Solitude and Music
by ginger sass
Summary: An alternative take on the life of Thorfinn Rowle, in which he has a scarring, mysterious past that looms over him during his time at the infamously dark Durmstrang Institute. Having thrived on isolation ever since Igor Karkaroff had retrieved him from questionable circumstances, Thorfinn faces more than a shock when he's forced to travel to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament.
1. Chapter 1

Quick A/N: Can't really believe I'm back on here after so much time, but after just having fun playing around with this idea I had to ask myself why I was holding back. If you've by any chance seen my old content please give this one a chance; the quality of writing has improved, even if this piece is not as seriously produced as many of the phenomenal works on this site. Just aim to enjoy it for what it is, really, and thank you for reading.

Chapter 1

The halls of the Durmstrang Institute had never been described as warm. They never emanated a welcoming comfort either, especially while they remained under Igor Karkaroff's stern rule. Even the classrooms and dormitories did not present an admirable atmosphere, with heat related charms being exchanged amongst every student in order to combat the late night chill of the castle. While the fact that the Institute was situated in the far north of Europe was often given as an excuse for the consistent spinal chill, there was a feel of dark authority in the air that had always remained unaddressed.

There was only one, single room in the castle that combated the silent cold of the night. It housed a talented individual as a result of tremendously exceptional circumstances, and was the only student dormitory within the Durmstrang Institute that did not contain multiple copies of the same furniture. While a regular dormitory would consist of beds, cabinets, and other irrelevant domestic furniture, Thorfinn Rowle's space was much different.

It had only one bed, which was a small double with a wine red duvet that was decorated by the extravagant Durmstrang crest, as well as bedside tables on either side. A tall mahogany wardrobe stood with an exuviation of pride against the left wall, with a desk of the same colour beside it which held an organised mess of books, parchment, and damaged quills. The right of the personal space was much less studious than the former; it possessed a dainty table and on it was a worn glass, a bottle of exquisite firewhisky, and a record player. Under it was a stack of records that were a surprising mix of Wizarding World releases and Muggle World contraband, and beside the table was a black leather armchair which currently held one Thorfinn Rowle.

His large, bulky form was the epitome of relaxation. It wasn't often a pureblood wizard could slouch in such a way, which was one of the reasons why Thorfinn enjoyed the solitude of his private space. His legs were spread out across the brown carpet and his arms hung almost lifelessly over the sides of the chair. In fact, the only active area of the limbs were his fingertips, as they uncontrollably flinched to the repetitive beat of the smooth, traditional Wizarding World record. Even his head had been thrown back over the top of the chair, allowing the short blonde cut to contrast sharply against the darkness of the leather.

By now it was late in the evening, and Thorfinn had still not changed out of his school attire. Instead, he had thrown off his furs and shirt, replacing them with a warming charm as it was not wise to battle the northern elements shirtless without a little magical aid.

For a wizard on the verge of being officially considered an adult, Thorfinn was exceptionally well built. He had always been one of the larger boys – with many of his classmates referring to him as 'golyam chovek' negatively during his earlier years at the Institute – but the once prominent chubby cheeks had soon altered themselves, and the extra weight once situated on his stomach had righted itself once training became more rigorous. The students still called him golyam chovek as well as its English equivalent (big man), but it had soon moved from an insult to a point of admiration.

Being tall with a strong, broad physique was not awfully common in the Wizarding World and it had the power to attract various kinds of attention.

And as nice as it was to be considered physically superior and sometimes magically greater as well, Thorfinn's heart still remained on his solitude and music. If any of his peers wished to engage in a conversation about schoolwork or sports, he'd acknowledge their curiosity during meal times. If any of Durmstrang's sparse collection of young women wished to engage him in something else entirely, he would humour their curiosities in their space only. Because no one, not a single soul, would dare taint the privacy of Thorfinn Rowle's personal dormitory. It was his home and escape; it had been for the past six years.

So when there was a knock on the closed door, Thorfinn initially played it off as a fragment of his imagination. Perhaps he had indulged in one too many drinks that evening, or simply even underestimated the strength of the relatively new luxurious brand. But then the knock rang out again. Three times in a row. And Thorfinn knew that someone was disturbing his time of solitude. Knowing that only one person would bother to try, the young man lifted his head with a guttural groan and opened the door with a lazy twist of his empty right hand. His suspicions were proven correct when Igor Karkaroff entered, dressed in his white winter coat and attire.

Usually, a student at the Durmstrang Institute would rise from their seat and greet the headmaster in a respectable manner. In public, Thorfinn often did the same thing. This, however, was an unscheduled meeting in his private space, so Thorfinn didn't even bother to cover himself up with his discarded shirt; the trousers would be enough to remove the argument regarding indecency.

"Good evening, headmaster." Thorfinn said neutrally, reaching over to detach his record. He could tell immediately that Karkaroff, being as strict as he was, was unhappy with the reception he had received. It was obvious that the issue would not be touched upon though, as there were evidently more important matters to discuss considering the fact that Karkaroff had made the move to visit Thorfinn's dormitory.

"I see you've made no move to prepare yourself." Karkaroff stated, making his student aware of the topic of conversation. Thorfinn was far from injudicious; he knew that the oncoming onslaught was about the fact that he had been avoiding everything to do with the Triwizard Tournament. Once the news of the trip to the famous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been spread, Karkaroff had quickly labelled Thorfinn as one of his chosen twelve to travel alongside him. Viktor Krum was the frontrunner, and he was the second. But Thorfinn did not want to be. He had no care for the tournament, nor the idea of staying in Scotland for months while the school year progressed back at Durmstrang. But Karkaroff had been insistent and unluckily for the headmaster, Thorfinn had been just as much so.

"The competition is not for me sir, neither is the travelling. I've said this many times."

"Come, boy," Karkaroff demanded. "Whether you like it or not, you are one of my chosen twelve."

"I'm not of age." Thorfinn scoffed, unresponsive to the manipulative form of flattery from his usually strict headmaster. He had no desire to leave the comfort that the confines of the Durmstrang Institute provided him; a lifelong creature of habit would not be abruptly swayed by an insistent compliment.

"You will be in two days." The headmaster snapped. "So while you will not be of age at the time of departure, you most certainly will be when the time comes to put your name in that cup! While it remains undeniable that Mr. Krum is the frontrunner and will probably be chosen to represent this Institute honourably, I am relying on you to fight in his place should his name not be produced."

"If you're so sure on Krum being champion, sir, then perhaps you should decide on a less talented insurance plan."

"Why, you-"

"As much as I appreciate all that this establishment has done for me over the years, I do not wish to waste a school year while everyone fawns over the rightful celebrity champion." From anyone else, Karkaroff would take the words to be both smug and ignorant. Coming from the enigmatic Thorfinn Rowle however, they were too dry – neutral, even – to come across as patronising. "It isn't lost on me that you understand and value my worth, sir. But the Triwizard Tournament is not the task for me… games, simply, are not my thing."

"Of that I am deftly aware." Karkaroff scoffed. "A serious soul, not unlike myself." He noted strongly. While the former death eater would never claim to see Thorfinn as a son, the young man was the closest thing to it that Karkaroff would ever have. He saw small parts of himself within the Rowle family heir, but would still not waver his demands despite the notable minuscule soft spot. "Now allow me to reassure you that this tournament is far from what you believe to be a game; it is designed to test only the strongest young wizards and witches, pushing them beyond their comfort-"

"I quite like my comfort zone here, sir."

"I know, boy." Karkaroff said. "But you cannot expect to live within these walls for the rest of your life." Thorfinn bristled at the comment, in denial of the fact that it was true. "You find an understandable solitude in your lifestyle here because it does not present you with the tribulations that you were exposed to as a boy, but not all of the world is as you have seen it in the past. Trust me when I say that Hogwarts is a light that you have never seen, and, while I do not agree with all of his methods, Professor Albus Dumbledore creates an atmosphere that cannot be mirrored."

"The atmosphere within this room cannot be mirrored either." Thorfinn argued, glancing around his private space. "Even after your most brutal training and practices… closing the door to this room, sliding a record onto the player, pouring a glass of only the finest drinks the Wizarding World can provide, sitting back in this chair – it calms me more than anything."

"Well you'll just have to find something else to calm you while we are away, Mr. Rowle. Because despite your efforts to escape this trip, you are boarding the boat tomorrow and if you do not arrive on time so help me Lord."

"Are you truly going to remove my right to choose, headmaster?" The blonde questioned, finally rising from the chair to stand before authority.

"You have no right to choose." Karkaroff retorted. "As you coincidentally mentioned before, you are not yet of age. And so due to you being under my guardianship until your seventeenth birthday, your right to choose still extends to my decision-making." Thorfinn's electric blue eyes narrowed slightly as he struggled to maintain an indifferent façade. There no way out this predicament, and he was becoming increasingly more aware of that fact as he continued to argue his case.

"Why must I be forced?" Thorfinn bit out, grinding his back teeth in attempt to quell the brewing agitation. His relaxation had already been intruded upon and ruined for the night, and now he was learning that tonight would be his finally opportunity to enjoy his space for a relatively long time.

"You know exactly why." The headmaster stated absolutely.

"Because you don't trust me." Thorfinn muttered, a flash of realisation crossing his handsome features. His fists began opening and closing involuntarily, with his right hand specifically craving the comfort of his wand. The annoyance had built, and now the anger was to follow. As if on cue, the fine wood of the wardrobe across the room splintered under a magical pressure, cracking loudly while a few shards fell to the ground. It looked as if a werewolf had clawed the centre.

"And that there is why." Karkaroff tutted before casting a swift, classic mending charm. "It is not that I don't trust you when you are thriving in your own space, it is the actions of others that concern me most. Well… the actions of others and your affinity for forms of darker magic beyond even what we offer within these walls."

"But you're the one who showed me some of-"

"Do not think that I do not know that it is you who steals the books that are hidden beyond even the restricted areas of the library, Thorfinn." The headmaster said firmly. "While no student has been found with devastating injuries that only you are capable of, I do not wish to be absent should that event occur."

"So you're throwing me into a place with hundreds of new people instead of leaving me somewhere I'm comfortably familiar with?" Thorfinn said in disbelief. His voice had raised slightly towards the end of the question, but he was too on edge to be concerned about the repercussions of yelling at Igor Karkaroff. "I'm not just going to start throwing dark magic around because you aren't here to tell me no!"

"Careful with that tone." Karkaroff ordered sharply, clamping a hand down on Thorfinn's broad, bare shoulder. The young man could feel the red print that was beginning to form under the harsh grip, but knew that he had brought this upon himself. It was worth it though… to fight for what he believed to be best for himself.

"Please, sir," Thorfinn mumbled, altering his approach. "We both know that Krum is more than good enough to win the Triwizard Tournament, so in that aspect I'm not needed. If you just let me remain here… I'll even undertake an Unbreakable Vow as a promise to not do anything you'd disagree with." Karkaroff's grip on his shoulder loosened gradually, eventually disappearing entirely. He looked down, pondering his words carefully before standing tall once more to stare Thorfinn directly in the eye.

"This trip will be good for you boy." Karkaroff said finally. "Trust that I wish for you to gain at least somewhat of a positive experience outside of this castle before you finish your education. Six years within these walls is a very long time, and the Triwizard Tournament is the best opportunity for you to extend your knowledge of the Wizarding World."

"But-"

"I wasn't finished." Karkaroff snapped. "This visit to another school, despite the fact that ours is undeniably superior, is one of the safest ways for you to finally explore. And perhaps… you'll even finally find yourself an adequate witch."

Thorfinn's relatively pale skin flushed from the neck upwards, and he raised his hand to cover his awkward cough.

"You know about that?"

"You think I am unaware of what goes on within my own establishment?" The headmaster scoffed. "The students talk, the faculty hear, then I hear my staff. You know, if you weren't so reluctant with allowing people in your dormitory, your exploits would be much more discreet."

"Okay, okay," Thorfinn muttered sheepishly, thoroughly embarrassed about the new topic of discussion. Although talking about the Triwizard Tournament frustrated him greatly, it was still better than the nature of his limited social life. It was hard to believe that the teachers gossiped as much as the pupils, but he dialled it down to the fact that most of them likely had not been away from school for long and were reduced to old habits. "I'll get my stuff together as long as you never bring that up again." Karkaroff clapped his hands together loudly as a devious grin of satisfaction wormed its way across his lips.

"Excellent!" He chuckled. "We depart after breakfast." Karkaroff stated before moving to leave, not allowing Thorfinn to go back on what had been said.

"Sir," The blonde piped up as he was halfway out of the door, making him turn back to the room once more. Karkaroff raised an eyebrow as a gesture for Thorfinn to continue. "Will I have my own room on the ship?"

"Yes, of course." The headmaster answered before moving away. "Baby steps, after all."

"Baby steps?" Thorfinn scoffed to himself, now finally back in the comfort of solitude. "More like being thrown to the wolves… baby steps… kissing Merlin's ass would be more fun than this trip."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was the evening of the 30th of October when Thorfinn Rowle first saw the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Coincidentally, it was also his seventeenth birthday. Thorfinn couldn't recall the last time he'd celebrated the special day, nor could he remember the last time he had received a purposeful gift. That was a slight drawback of living in such solitude, he supposed, but not being the centre of materialistic attention on a specific day was certainly not enough to force him out of his established lifestyle.

Regardless, having no one go out of their way to care about his birthday made it all that much easier to spend the day in peace. And, luckily for Thorfinn, he was given that luxury. The same couldn't be said for the rest of the unfortunate Durmstrang delegates (minus Krum) who had been left in control of the ship while the headmaster hid away in his own quarters.

Thorfinn had lay back on the single bed, allowing the stubbly back of his neck to sink into the silky red pillowcase. The room was begrudgingly smaller than he was accustomed to, barely having enough space to house additional belongings such as his record player and vast array of magical texts. Although the downgrade irritated him greatly, he did acknowledge that it was an understandable sacrifice in order to not have to share a living space with one of his peers.

It was a correct presumption that Viktor Krum had also been given a relatively small room to himself. The Quidditch star was known to be Karkaroff's clear favourite, exemplified by the doting that would not be done for any other individual. Just as Thorfinn had been able to avoid crew duties while they had travelled, Viktor had been given the same privilege due to an apparent minor illness that it was vital he recover from immediately.

The excessive attention given only to Viktor was even demonstrated when they anchored the ship and began to exit. Karkaroff led his limited collection of students towards the huge crowd of Hogwarts pupils that had been stationed by the entrance hall, making sure that Viktor was up front in a show of superiority. Thorfinn, who trailed at the back of the pack in order to stay out of the way, could automatically tell that his headmaster was shamelessly showing off the Quidditch star.

Although keeping to the back had been a sound plan in theory, Thorfinn was utterly aware of the fact that he stood out as if he were a dragon among hippogriffs; he had never abided by the uniform rules word for word. While his peers were all dressed in long cloaks of shaggy, matted fur, Thorfinn was wearing a long black coat which possessed a brown fur collar. He could feel the stares. Every single one of them. The hairs of the back of his neck were prickling, and his fists were jerkily clenching as he wished to return solitude and leave the unfamiliar place.

As if sensing a slight deviation in the magic just behind him, Karkaroff made a move to end his formal greetings with Professor Dumbledore.

"How good it is to be here, how good… Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…"

Thorfinn watched on blankly as more and more of the Hogwarts students realised that they were in the presence of a celebrity. It seemed as if Viktor Krum was the definition of a blessing in disguise for Thorfinn, as the Quidditch star was diverting the attention away from the remainder of the Durmstrang delegates. As they continued through the entrance hall in order to reach the Great Hall, he couldn't help but cast discreet, skittish glances behind him; Hogwarts students were going as far as jumping up and down in order to get a view of Viktor, and the liveliness that most certainly did not exist within the Durmstrang Institute unnerved him.

At least surveying the unknown location was not an absolutely taxing task. Thorfinn's reputation of somewhat of a large wizard also applied to Hogwarts, it seemed, as he was able to see over the heads of at least three quarters of the students that had not yet entered the Great Hall.

When the group suddenly stopped in the doorway, Thorfinn's attention snapped back to his peers. He noticed that the Beauxbatons delegates had already found a home on a table with the Hogwarts students that donned the colour blue. As the Durmstrang group waited for Viktor to make the final decision, Thorfinn felt the undeniable urge to turn on his heels and run back the way he came. He toughed it out, however, and ended up squashed between Poliakoff and a young woman who he had not so much as looked in the direction of since they had spent an evening together.

Honestly, Thorfinn did not believe he could be more uncomfortable if he tried. But, to put the cherry on top of his rising agitation, a boy with bright blonde hair was snootily throwing English at Viktor at such a rapid pace that not even Thorfinn could understand. He was undoubtedly the best English speaker out of the delegates and if even he could not comprehend the arrogant words from the teen, he knew that poor Viktor would have no hope. Thankfully, the conversation was cut off by Albus Dumbledore, who looked to be preparing to give a speech.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and – most particularly, guests," Thorfinn's attention began moving elsewhere while Dumbledore took a moment to beam at the foreign students. The most ironic part of that way of thinking was the fact that he was not actually foreign; anyone who knew the history of Wizarding Britain knew that Rowle was a prominent name. Damocles Rowle was probably his most notable ancestor, as the former Minister for Magic had been responsible for some of the most despicable developments of Azkaban prison between the years of 1718 and 1726.

"I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable." Dumbledore continued. Thorfinn knew that being comfortable would not be an option until he was back on the ship, locked away in his sanctuary with a firewhisky and a rebellious Muggle World record on. "The Tournament will officially be opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

And with that, the tables filled with food. As the meal progressed, the Durmstrang delegates removed their cloaks to reveal their deep, blood red robes. The only person who didn't show off their uniform was Thorfinn; he took the removal of a coat or cloak as an implication of a person meaning to stay. Keeping on his coat meant that he would be able to make the fastest retreat possible once they were officially dismissed.

"Not going to socialise?" Poliakoff asked bluntly from Thorfinn's right, accidently letting a few fragments of chewed beef fly from his mouth as he rudely chomped on a mouthful. Luckily, Thorfinn had not been in the line of fire. Whether that was intentional, he wasn't sure. But if the beef had hit his plate like it had landed on Daphne Greengrass', his restraint for the evening would have flown out of the window without looking back.

"Wash it down before you speak next time, you imbecile." Thorfinn ground out, glaring at the shards of beef on poor Daphne's plate. The young blonde hadn't noticed a thing as she was in a deep discussion with her friend Tracey Davis, but just knowing about the contamination made Thorfinn feel ill. "And no, I will not be conversing."

"Not even to the pretty girls?" Poliakoff nagged. "I vould, if not for engagement back home."

"Don't let that stop you." Thorfinn commented deviously, a sly smirk inching its way onto his face. "If anything, this time away before marriage could be your last chance to have a little fun… if you catch my drift."

"Ah, girls here vith us know my betrothed."

"Unfortunate." Thorfinn chuckled. "But what they do not know, your betrothed does not know. Surely you wish to have a bite at the fresh meat?"

"Vell… yes." Poliakoff muttered quietly. "I mean, have you seen Beauxbatons ladies? Tens across board, you know saying." For the first time that evening, Thorfinn had a genuine look at the young women his peer had described. Glancing around the room to familiarise himself with the new surroundings had meant that he had not thoroughly absorbed any of the sights. One inevitably caught his eye, and it took him a moment to realise exactly why.

"Oh," Thorfinn commented in amusement. "I'd stay far away from that one if I was you." He stated, pointing out Fleur Delacour.

"Why?"

"Surely you can tell she's a veela… or partly one at least."

"Girl for you then?" Poliakoff said, and Thorfinn wasn't sure if that was a joke or not. The confused crease that emerged between the blonde's brows was a sign for the Durmstrang delegate to continue. "Attention not kept by any other girl – veela attraction keep you interested."

"You know," Thorfinn started as Dumbledore rose from his seat to address the Hall once more. "Idiots like you saying shit like that to me are one of the many reasons why I did not wish to socialise in the first place." Poliakoff jolted at the darkness underneath the false jovial tone and turned away immediately, directing his attention to the front of the Hall.

"The moment has come," Said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure which we will be following this year…" Thorfinn couldn't help but block out the introductions of Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman, taking more time to examine the ocean of magical students. He knew that Hogwarts was much different to the Institute, with a clear contrast being the fact that there were many muggleborn pupils given places here while Durmstrang refused to accept them.

He supposed he had never given it much thought, as his interest in his fellow students had always been limited at best. Yes, pureblooded witches and wizards such as himself were socially superior, and the reputation undeniably brought both a multitude of perks alongside a couple of issues. As for muggleborns on the other hand, Thorfinn truly had no opinion. He'd met pure and halfblood witches and wizards, and he'd been around detestable muggles for such a time that warranted the tale be saved for another occasion. Muggleborns however, had never once appeared in his life. And perhaps that was for the best, considering the fact that wizards such as Karkaroff absolutely loathed their kind.

As his sharp blue gaze moved from the Ravenclaw table, Thorfinn couldn't help but feel the sensation of being watched. Too alert to ignore the sensation, his eyes quickly darted around the room to find the source of his vigilance. He soon discovered it to be a girl who sat amongst the crowd of students wearing a hint of red. The moment their stares met, she looked utterly mortified that she'd been caught watching curiously and with the speed of an owl she moved to face Dumbledore and the faculty.

Thorfinn snorted in amusement at the abruptness of it all, making no move to look away from the girl as the Goblet of Fire was revealed. The way that she fiddled with the prominent curls in her hair in order to hide her reddening face was beyond fascinating; in his time he'd never seen anyone quite like her. In fact, out of everyone his gaze had analytically roamed over the course of the feast, the girl on the Gryffindor table was potentially one of the only significant people in the entire place. And she had been staring too, for reasons unknown. The entire interaction had been… exquisite.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment, and drop it into the Goblet," Thorfinn's attention jumped back to Dumbledore upon hearing this, as Karkaroff would be severely unhappy if he missed the instructions. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools."

Despite his phenomenal aptitude for all kinds of magic, Thorfinn honestly hoped that he would not be chosen. How would he be able to hide away in his private space if there were constant champion duties to attend to? It would be a nightmare, no doubt.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract…"

And the nightmare worsens.

"There can be no change of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are whole-heartedly prepared to play, before you drop your name into the Goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all."

Naturally, Thorfinn was one of the first to rise from his seat. He was beyond eager to return to the solitude of the ship for the night and was glad that Karkaroff wasted little time in leading them off. The group approached the door at the same time as some Hogwarts students, who graciously halted to allow Karkaroff and his students to pass. Everyone was momentarily confused when the headmaster stopped abruptly, turning his head to look down at the boy who had let him walk through first.

Then realisation set in, and Thorfinn realised ahead of his peers that the polite Hogwarts pupil was none other than the famous Harry Potter. While the others began to notice, Thorfinn's gaze drifted to the two people standing just behind Harry. The redheaded boy was quickly neglected as a point of relevance, but he soon felt a small smirk appearing when he noticed that the other student was the girl from earlier. It appeared she hadn't noticed him yet, as Thorfinn had once more drifted to the back of the group.

It took Karkaroff engaging in a standoff with Mad-Eye Moody for girl to notice him, but as soon as she did Thorfinn noticed that she instinctively began to fidget under his intense gaze. The tense nature of the situation meant that he could do nothing more grin discreetly in her direction, which was rather frustrating in all honesty because he felt a strong desire in him to at least learn her name.

But it was too little, too late. Karkaroff stormed off from the encounter and the Durmstrang students habitually followed his lead. Thorfinn moved immediately as well… because as much as the girl had intrigued him, his solitude and music were calling out his name. Despite that, he did look back over his shoulder just once on the way out and was blessed with a hesitant, closemouthed smile that made his heart beat just that little bit faster.

"Interesting." He whispered to himself after turning away. "Interesting indeed."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next morning came much too soon for one Thorfinn Rowle, who had managed to supply himself with as little as four hours of sleep. It was entirely his own fault; upon returning from the feast, he had immediately isolated himself from the group and found solace in a couple of his contraband Muggle classics. The tunes – paired with three full glasses of firewhisky and a _borrowed _copy of the English translation of Inextricable Hexes by relatively unknown eastern European author Pavel Koren – had kept him awake until the day's very first bird song.

Getting lost in the text and the calming aura of his familiar solitude had been a much needed reprieve. After the events of the previous day, the time had all but brought forth the effects of a calming draught for a short period of time. Short required emphasis though, as one wrong move from an ignorant or an agitating passer-by would easily shatter the illusion of peace.

The fact that Karkaroff had forced them all to rise early was more than enough to bring Thorfinn close to the edge. And yes, that may have just been emphasised because he had not yet had a meal. What? A bulky and formidable wizard such as himself needed more fuel than the average boy.

The lack of energy as a result of sleep deprivation and slight starvation was undoubtedly worsening his mood minute by minute; Karkaroff's loud coddling of Viktor and incessant nagging regarding the Durmstrang students being the first to put their names in the Goblet certainly was not helping matters.

When they exited the ship and began trudging up towards the Great Hall, Thorfinn's minuscule interest in putting his name in the Goblet of Fire had dropped further than he thought to be possible. The only thought on his mind was breakfast. The type of food didn't matter – it could have been a ridiculously rich raspberry cheesecake for all he cared – because Thorfinn Rowle was positively starving and the speed at which the delegates were moving was very much testing his minimal patience.

By the time they were halfway there, enough was enough. Thorfinn put his long legs to use and stormed to the front of the group within moments. Karkaroff regarded him with nothing more than a cool glance, and he walked beside his headmaster and Viktor for a moment before pushing on ahead. Although Thorfinn could feel Karkaroff's glaring anger due to the prickling warning exuberated by his neck, the blonde knew that nothing would be said; the last time Thorfinn had been called out by a member of Durmstrang staff for his attitude had been in his third year. The Rowle heir hadn't taken kindly to the attention and the magical outbursts had made sure that no one would try such a thing again.

Thorfinn reached the entrance hall in what was very likely a record time, but much to the surprise of the few Hogwarts students watching the Goblet vigilantly, he strut by the object without so much as a fleeting glance and automatically sat himself down at the quietest part of the Slytherin table. It was surprising to see so many students up early on a Saturday, but it seemed that the thrill of seeing who put their name in the Goblet was enough to wake up even the laziest of risers.

When the time came for his schoolmates to begin placing their names in the Goblet of Fire, Thorfinn had already piled five slices of bacon, three Cumberland sausages, two hash browns, three poached eggs, and four large scoops of baked beans onto his plate. Beside that was a small bowl of cornflakes and a plate with four slices of lavishly buttered toast. He was pouring himself one of the largest pumpkin juices that the Hogwarts students had ever seen when his classmates eventually joined him.

Meanwhile, in the entrance hall, Harry, Ron and Hermione had stopped to catch up on the latest news regarding the tournament entrants.

"Anyone put their name in yet?" Ron asked a third year girl eagerly.

"All the Durmstrang lot," She replied as a fifth year boy wearing a Ravenclaw scarf jumped into the conversation rather rudely. A sense of entitlement and haughtiness rolled off of him in waves, and Hermione instinctively rolled her eyes in response to the attitude.

"Not all of them, actually." He corrected rather arrogantly, running a hand through his slick, black hair. "I was here before they all arrived and one went straight into the hall alone without so much as acknowledging the Goblet!"

"Who?" Ron asked zealously, quickly following the boy as he moved further towards the Great Hall in order to point out the mysterious Durmstrang delegate. Harry and Hermione went after them also, not as interested as Ron but still somewhat curious.

"Him!" The boy stated, pointing directly at Thorfinn Rowle. Hermione felt her breath catch when she realised that it was the same young man from the previous night. It was undeniable that he stood out amongst his peers; the navy woollen coat did wonders for his appearance while working in conjunction with his relatively light complexion, and the way his shoulders hunched slightly showed the extent of his height struggles at a table made with children/younger teenagers in mind.

"He's huge!" Ron spluttered indignantly, earning a look of annoyance from Hermione. While the statement wasn't exactly incorrect, it did still come across as rather insensitive.

"Look, Ron," Harry started lightly, clearly gearing up for a joke. "He eats more than you… had no clue that that was possible." Hermione giggled at the comment and took the time to look at the space in front of the enigmatic Durmstrang pupil that had caught her attention on multiple occasions already. The volume of food certainly shocked her, but she found pleasure in noting that although he did eat more than the redhead, he ate with manners that she had wished to see from Ron since the very first meal.

"Are you sure you didn't miss him putting his name in?" Ron questioned the Ravenclaw boy. "I mean, Krum's Krum and all, but that guy looks like he'd eat a first year for lunch."

"Walked right by it." The boy shrugged before disappearing into the busying hall.

"Don't know about you guys," Harry said to the two, "but I reckon if he puts his name in and gets picked, the other champions'll be running in the opposite direction."

"Well." Hermione scoffed. "One of those Beauxbatons girls would probably run right at him instead."

"What do you mean by that?" Ron demanded. In reality, he knew precisely what the comment had meant, but for some reason the jealous instincts had kicked in. Perhaps it was down to the fact that competing against a man that looked like that Durmstrang delegate would be inevitably impossible. Sack the first year, the guy would most likely eat Ron for lunch as well.

"You know exactly what I mean-"

"Hermione's probably right." Harry contributed, diffusing the tension between his two best friends. "He looks like a machine honestly. Be cool to look like that though, wouldn't it, Ron?"

"Suppose." Ron grumbled. "Wonder if anyone from Hogwarts has put their name in yet..."

"I haven't seen anyone." The third year girl from earlier piped up. Had she been listening to their entire conversation?

"Bet some of them put in last night after we'd all gone to bed," said Harry. "I would've done if it had been me… wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the Goblet just gobbed you right back out again?"

As he spoke, Fred, George and Lee Jordan rushed excitedly down the staircase. After a palaver with the age line and the potion – which could have been avoided if Hermione's advice had been heeded – Angelina Johnson was cheered after entering her name. Once the predominantly Gryffindor crowd had cleared, Thorfinn finally made his move. As easy as it would have been to give everyone nearby a front row view of his reluctance, he bit down on the inside of his cheek and strode towards the Goblet.

The few Hogwarts students that had remained close to the Goblet following Angelina's entry all scurried back from the age line when they noticed Thorfinn approaching. Looking down on them with a glare hadn't exactly been his intention, but if it allowed him personal space then he would continue to strike a semblance of fear.

He presumed most students would take a brief couple of seconds in order to cherish the moment. But, as he stared blankly at the Goblet, Thorfinn couldn't feel any of the ambitious excitement and hesitant pleasure that those before him had had. Instead, there was an emptiness. As if this moment was entirely insignificant. In fact, as Thorfinn took the parchment that he had filled out earlier from his coat pocket, he unintentionally dwelled on the realisation that staring at the girl across the Great Hall the previous night had produced more of a thrill than the idea of the Triwizard Tournament and its eternal glory.

The parchment was tossed in haphazardly, as if it held no significance. The Goblet yielded the flames of acceptance that it had done for all of his Durmstrang peers, and Thorfinn quickly stepped away from the magical device only to find himself face to face with Igor Karkaroff.

"Took your time." Karkaroff commented, not even a false smile on show beneath his long goatee.

"Needed some energy to cope with everything here – I'm sure you understand, sir."

"Then why don't we put that energy to use?" The headmaster suggested slyly. "I've allowed Viktor the day off to fully recover, so I'm afraid I've some spare time on my hands. Perhaps some _endurance_ training will fill the void… we wouldn't want you getting fat after that big breakfast now, would we?"

"Of course not, sir." Thorfinn replied stiffly, knowing exactly what endurance training entailed. The only positive to this was that fact that it was not resilience training, which had the tendency to sometimes involve the arduous art of Occlumency. "I'll be on the ship when you wish to begin."

"No need, no need, I spied a perfect spot on the grounds earlier, we'll head there immediately."

"Is there not even time for me to change out of one of my only good coats?" Thorfinn deadpanned.

"You won't have it on anyway," Karkaroff responded, a sadistic joy worming its way into his tone. "You'll be doing a lot of squats today, and a log from the forest on your shoulders would dirty it up I believe."

"Sounds fantastic…" The blonde muttered dryly, following the authority figure with his hands in the pockets of his coat.

The location Karkaroff had chosen was a very secluded spot on the grounds, just on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was obvious that not many of the Hogwarts students bothered with the area, especially on a day where people were entering their names for the Triwizard Tournament. Naturally, this seclusion was perfect for Karkaroff, as he could sling hexes at his student with absolutely no repercussions at all.

The initial squats with a large log on the bare skin of his back had been relatively easy once Thorfinn had perfected his grip on the former tree. There were unsurprisingly rough parts of the log that rubbed and irritated the skin of his prominent shoulders, but the small marks they made were not the first to be on his body even before the use of magic interfered. There were a few pale, circular scars scattered across Thorfinn's arms, torso, and back. They were relatively unnoticeable at a distant glance, however much closer they were a constant, tainting reminder and he did not bother to cover them with aesthetic charms.

Once Karkaroff felt the desire, he began throwing incredibly thin slicing hexes at Thorfinn's abdominal region. Although the slashes were only a little larger than an extreme papercut on the surface, they certainly went deeper. Thorfinn tensed the muscles of his stomach more than he thought was humanly possible as he continued to squat with the log, not allowing the stinging pain to cause hesitance or a sign of weakness.

"Log up." Karkaroff ordered after Lord only knows how long, and Thorfinn had to go through the same gruelling process while repeatedly bringing the log from his chest to above his head (the tiniest Cruciatus Curse ever seen had been thrown in for good measure also). While it was hard to be distracted throughout such taxing training, Thorfinn couldn't help notice a short girl with long, flowing blonde hair skipping into the outskirts of forest with a bag hung over her shoulder. It was definitely an odd sighting, as he was sure that there was a rule in place that forbade students from doing exactly what she had done.

And so, after Karkaroff had finished with him for the day and ordered that he cool himself down with a run before returning to the ship to get ready for the evening meal, Thorfinn did his best to follow the same path the girl had skipped along earlier. It didn't take too long to track her down, but what he found made his blue orbs widen in disbelief.

She was feeding thestrals...

He'd never seen one in person, but they were freakishly phenomenal.

Thorfinn took a long moment to watch from the distance, registering that they could both see the magical creatures for a very specific reason. She seemed rather young to have already been exposed to the sight of death, but that thought was hugely hypocritical coming from Thorfinn because he had been too. Despite that, he still wished for her sake that the death she had witnessed had been an accident. Other reasons for death were… feasibly harder to un-see.

Eventually, Thorfinn moved to approach her while tucking his shirt into the waistband of his black trousers. The girl turned to acknowledge his presence as he was shrugging on his woollen coat, and to his surprise she didn't even appear to be slightly shocked by his appearance.

"You're bleeding." She said in greeting, her tone airy and ethereal.

"I am." Thorfinn replied in agreement, stepping forward to stand beside her as she turned back to the pack of thestrals and dipped her dainty hand into her bag. "And you seem to be feeding thestrals, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes," she agreed, voice still light. One of the larger creatures came scuttling in her direction and she bent forward slightly, softly rolling an apple (that she'd obviously taken from the hall at lunch) along the forest floor. The thestral didn't appear to be overly keen with the vegetarian option, but took time to gobble it up nonetheless. "Would you like to try?" She asked suddenly, holding a slice of raw meat out in his direction while looking up at him with wide, wondrous eyes.

"Why not?" Thorfinn shrugged, taking the meat from her. He tossed it over to one of the infants that was struggling to maintain a stable footing, and watched as the food was gratefully consumed.

"You know," the girl started, "Hogwarts uses thestrals to pull the carriages that bring students from the train to the castle. I like to think it's because they're special; not a lot of people can see them like you and I."

"Perhaps that's for the best." He suggested bluntly. His regularly exhibited antisocial behaviour throughout his time at Durmstrang resulted in him losing tact and – in other conversations – tolerance. "As… intriguing as these creatures are, I would not wish upon someone to see what I have seen in order to be able to view them as we do."

"Yes, I understand." She said as she offered the last of the food to the nearby thestrals. "Would you like to walk back to the grounds?"

"After you." Thorfinn nodded, allowing her to lead the way as it was his best chance of avoiding getting lost. "I don't believe you've offered me your name." He commented as they walked back. Usually he wouldn't care to learn the name of someone he had only had one brief interaction with, but this girl had been quite unlike anyone he had ever met. She hadn't managed to irritate him, or make him want to retreat back to his private space for that matter. That warranted minimal interest at least.

"Luna Lovegood." She answered with a delicate smile. They both stopped a little way off from the castle, as Thorfinn had to split off from her in order to get to the Durmstrang ship. "And yours?"

"Thorfinn… Thorfinn Rowle."

"Good luck for tonight, Thorfinn. It was nice meeting you."

"You too." He mumbled while she skipped away. "Well… that's enough social interaction for the week."

* * *

Thorfinn thanked the stars in the sky that it was yet another evening feast in the Great Hall. Having missed lunch, he was positively starving by the time they entered the Great Hall prior to the choosing of the champions. As the food on the plate piled up more than once, the Triwizard Tournament was the last thing on Thorfinn's mind; in hindsight, perhaps it should have been.

Both Hogwarts and Durmstrang students left him in peace and he thoroughly enjoyed flying under the radar. It gave him the opportunity to fill his desperate stomach without distraction, while he also recovered from the earlier social interaction that he had exposed himself to. Perhaps a week had been an exaggeration, but after a brief conversation with an unknown Thorfinn yearned deeply for his familiar solitude.

Throughout the meal, Thorfinn's attention remained on his plate and the table around him. Having observed the hall sharply the previous night, he didn't feel as exposed to the dangers. The uncomfortable sensation still remained nonetheless.

It was only when the golden plates were cleared that Thorfinn's mind began to wander. Professor Dumbledore had risen to his feet, and those sharing his table were all looking on just as expectantly as the students.

"Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber-"

Once the general instructions had been consumed just in case, Thorfinn lost interest almost immediately. It was almost a certainty that Viktor Krum would be chosen as the champion for the Durmstrang Institute (thankfully). Because of this borderline inevitability, he dedicated his usually cynical gaze to something of more importance…

She was not hard to find.

It was rather confusing in all honesty, how a girl who most people would consider to have average looks could stand out in such a way. Thorfinn knew just by watching her across the Great Hall that she wasn't average; there was absolutely no way she had captured his attention without being special. He liked uniqueness… never settled for less. The evening prior had involved somewhat fleeting glances, but now his eyes would not move from her.

In fact, his gaze was superglued on the Gryffindor table while every other pair of eyes in the Great Hall eagerly watched the first piece of parchment flutter into Dumbledore's waiting hand. And it wouldn't have left her, either, if not for the fact that the Hogwarts headmaster had just announced that:

"The champion for Durmstrang will be Thorfinn Rowle."

Mutters of shock immediately broke out amongst the hall, shortly followed by a rising storm of applause. Almost everyone had been undeniably astonished that Viktor Krum had not been chosen, but Thorfinn was understandably the most shaken of them all. Poliakoff slapped him hard on the back, muttering Bulgarian words of encouragement as his aloof classmate slowly rose from the bench.

Thorfinn steeled his visage, sensing the looks of intrigue from those in the Great Hall that had potentially recognised his name. It was written in recent history that the traditional pureblood name of Rowle had all but died out following the demise of his parents, and it was natural for those familiar with the title to be in disbelief. The blonde haired boy that he had first noticed harassing Viktor was a specific standout as Thorfinn moved from the Slytherin table cautiously. The expression of surprise and desperate intrigue was hard to miss; Thorfinn expected a hounding next time the boy was nearby and already knew that his minimal patience would be tested.

When he finally reached Dumbledore, the headmaster gave him a light, encouraging clap on the shoulder before gesturing to the aforementioned chamber. Thorfinn walked along the staff table, feeling the faculty watching him with a mix of suspicion and captivation. As he went to disappear behind the heavy door, he chanced a single glance back at the table surrounded by red and gold.

Their eyes locked briefly, and Thorfinn vanished from the Great Hall.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Thorfinn didn't care for the fire, nor the paintings that lined the walls. While Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour both stood before the mantelpiece, he remained far from them both in one of the distant corners of the room. The shock had gradually brought him from his strong stance, and he was crouched with firm bends in his knees with his back pressed up against the chilly wall. He was staring down at his hands in deep, almost regretful thought when the door opened once more. Only when Fleur spoke did Thorfinn glance upwards to see one incredibly dazed Harry Potter. In comparison to Harry, Thorfinn appeared to be as cool as a frozen cucumber.

"What is it?" she said. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?" Harry simply stood motionless, and when Thorfinn moved back to his feet as a result of his curiosity, he unknowingly intimidated the boy even more. Harry stared at the three with his gaze settling on Thorfinn; seeing him sat far away on the Slytherin table was much different to seeing him up close and personal. The Rowle heir was awfully large and it was easy to feel a creeping dread (especially when everyone referred to Durmstrang as the darkest of the wizarding schools).

Thorfinn was momentarily distracted by the scurrying of feet, and he could immediately tell that it was a powerful party of magical people approaching; average magical exuviations weren't important enough for Thorfinn to sense, however numerous potent powers mixed in with Albus Dumbledore were easy enough. Ludo Bagman entered the room first, taking Harry by the arm.

"Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing Harry's arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentleman… lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce – incredible though it may seem – the _fourth_ Triwizard champion?"

Thorfinn frowned deeply as Fleur began to argue with Bagman, taking the time to assess the boy-who-lived with a keen eye. Surely the decision had been a mistake… how in the world was scrawny little Harry Potter going to be able to best obstacles made specifically for superior and of age students to struggle with?

Professor Dumbledore soon entered after Bagman, followed closely by Mr Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape.

"Madame Maxime!" said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. Thorfinn bristled at her shrill tone, already feeling tense enough without the additional French uproar. He wanted out of this situation. Now. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. Thorfinn felt his left eyebrow twitch in minor surprise at how tall she was up close; for one of the first times in his eventful life, he felt small. And Thorfinn didn't like the inferior sensation at all. The top of her handsome head even brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black satin bosom swelled.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she said imperiously.

"I'd like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. "_Two_ Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions – or have I not read the rules carefully enough?" He gave a short and nasty laugh that Thorfinn knew all too well.

As the conversation continued, Thorfinn did well to hold his tongue. He noticed that Cedric Diggory had done exactly the same, while Fleur had soon quieted down once her headmistress had begun putting forth an argument in her place. Even Harry Potter was silent, only answering Dumbledore's CALM question with a simple 'no'. The unmoveable expression of horror on Harry's face was more than enough for Thorfinn to think that perhaps it was not Harry who had entered his name. Professor Moody's argument only validated this theory, but Thorfinn was definitely not keen on the thought of speaking up in a room that contained such powerful voices… especially because he would be arguing on the lesser of the two sides.

Stand against Karkaroff in front of the man's equals? Absolutely no chance.

Especially when the former death eater in question was currently heatedly bickering with Mad-Eye Moody.

"It's my job to think the way dark wizards do, Karkaroff – as you ought to remember…"

"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly, and Thorfinn couldn't stop the increase of the tension in his shoulders. It was no secret to him that Karkaroff was incredibly experienced with various forms of dark magic, and it made him worry slightly that the staff would come down on him also due to his headmaster's reputation. Thorfinn was far from innocent after all; his brain was full of Karkaroff's teachings alongside extracurricular research. The apparent dark side of magic was fascinating. And yes, while there were many corrupt properties within some aspects, dark magic as a whole seemed to be categorised in an exclusive way. To Thorfinn, magic was magic. A simplistic construction such as good and bad would not separate the two for him.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do…"

"Isn't this kid supposed to be around the age of twelve?" Thorfinn piped up finally, his harsh tone reverberating throughout the enclosed space. All eyes turned to him; Harry looked noticeably offended, while some staff appeared standoffish and others were in clear understanding. "And no one is going to look for a way to pull him out of the Tournament?"

"Many of us here share your concerns, Mr Rowle-"

"You may as well just blast him to smithereens right here," Thorfinn continued, cutting off Dumbledore much to everyone's surprise. "At least it'll save him all the fighting and the pain of a slow death!" His anger was rising considerably, and he must have been radiating some of his compulsively unstable magic because Cedric took a cautious step away from the Durmstrang student.

"Enough." Karkaroff demanded, growling lowly as he firmly gripped the back of Thorfinn's neck. The young man quickly silenced himself, feeling his piercing eyes begin to dart around the room as he fought to calm down. Although slightly put off by the brutality of his comments, Harry appeared to be at least somewhat thankful that Thorfinn had made an effort to stick up for him; people on his side were already few and far between.

"As I was saying, both Cedric and Harry must compete…"

"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr-"

"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it." Having already remained patient through Thorfinn's minor outburst, Dumbledore couldn't help but make such a comment. He waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn't the only one, either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid as his bulky fingertips continued to dig sharply into the neck of his student (undoubtedly leaving marks). Bagman, however, looked rather excited.

"Well, shall we crack on, then?" Bagman said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honours?" Mr Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie.

"Yes," he said. "Instructions. Yes… the first task… the first task is designed to test your daring." He told Harry, Cedric, Fleur and Thorfinn. "So we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard… very important. The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed with only their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first task is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the Tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."

Well, at least there was a positive. Thorfinn hated exams, and it wasn't because he struggled with the content. Overall, exams were relatively easy for him. What was not easy was the fact that he had to sit, surrounded by students, in a deafening silence for hours upon hours. Even within the familiar walls of the Durmstrang Institute, examination conditions had always made him uncomfortable. He could not imagine having to sit on the ship and attempt sixth year exams, nor could he feel comfortable doing so in an unacquainted Hogwarts classroom.

"I think that's all, is it, Albus?" Crouch said, turning to look at Dumbledore.

"I think so." Said Dumbledore. He went on to exchange pleasantries with his guest before it was time for everyone to retreat for the night. Madame Maxime and Fleur shot out of the door first, quickly followed by Karkaroff who had only just released Thorfinn's neck. The young man hesitated, glancing back at Harry before following obediently after his headmaster.

As soon as Fleur and Madame Maxime were out of hearing distance, Karkaroff whirled round furiously. Thorfinn was somehow able to keep a stony expression despite the glare that was closing in on him.

"You fool!" Karkaroff snarled, grabbing him by the fur collar of his coat. "Making an enemy out of Albus Dumbledore during the first meeting… I taught you better than this."

"You know just as well as I do that Harry Potter competing in the Triwizard Tournament is insanity, sir."

"Of course I do!" The headmaster spat out. "But that still does not excuse your _common_ outburst in a room of respected wizards and witches. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in the room had felt the magic you were pushing off of you – how many times must I make it clear that cards as strong as that one do not ever belong on the table?"

"You know it wasn't intentional." Thorfinn argued quietly. "The room was so full of stress that it was suffocating, I couldn't help but become frustrated."

"You must control yourself… any other _reputable_ pureblood wizard would not have acted as you did."

"Well I wouldn't have needed to act at all if you had just let me stay at the Institute."

"Now," Karkaroff started angrily. "You see here-"

The Durmstrang headmaster was cut off by the opening of the chamber door. Harry and Cedric emerged, immediately noticing the bickering pair at the far end of the empty Great Hall. Karkaroff snapped his teeth together furiously, storming off back to the ship knowing that the conversation could not be continued when rivals were nearby. Thorfinn refrained from following right away, instead being met by the Hogwarts duo as their conversation continued.

"So… tell us…" Cedric said as they stopped in the entrance hall close to Thorfinn. He didn't want to be part of the conversation, but being pulled into the discussion seemed to be the lesser of two evils as he imagined Karkaroff stewing on the ship. "How _did_ you get your name in?"

"I didn't," said Harry, staring up at Cedric. "I didn't put it in. I was telling the truth."

"Ah… OK," said Cedric. Both Thorfinn and Harry could tell that Cedric didn't believe him. "Well… see you, then." The two champions watched as Cedric departed, disappearing through a door to the right of the marble staircase. They listened to the gradual diminishment of the Hufflepuff's footsteps for a moment, then Thorfinn shifted slightly to stand in front of Harry and look down at him.

"There won't be a lot of people that believe you." Thorfinn stated. Harry sighed at the comment, thinking the same. He doubted that there would be anyone other than Ron and Hermione that believed his story.

"And what do you think?" Harry asked quietly, slightly embarrassed that he had to bend his neck back in order to make eye contact.

"You already know what I think." Thorfinn said bluntly. "But if you'd like me to rephrase for your comprehension, then here… I don't think that anyone can be that good of an actor. There's an unknowing, and an underlying fear, that I don't believe can be faked. But if I do find out that you've deceived me-"

"I haven't." Harry cut in desperately. "I can promise you… I didn't put my name in that Goblet. I didn't ask for this, all I wanted was a quiet year."

"On that we can agree." The blonde chuckled. "Just between you and me, a quiet year was on the cards for me also. In fact, I did everything I could to stay at Durmstrang, but you may come to find that Karkaroff can be rather insistent."

"So you don't want to be in the Tournament either, then?"

"Certainly wouldn't be my first choice of entertainment. But now that I'm stuck in the champion role I'm going to fight, and I recommend that you do also. The comment I made about you potentially being blown to pieces was not a joke…"

"Yeah… I know." Harry mumbled, repeatedly kicking the ground with the balls of his feet. "I'm actually fourteen, by the way."

"Well I wasn't far off." Thorfinn scoffed. "Besides, it was an attempt to make them feel guilty about your predicament. I'm sorry that I couldn't be of more help."

"It's fine. I'm just thankful, I suppose. No offence but with what people were saying about Durmstrang, you were the person I least expected to be on my side."

"You think I'm an evil wizard?" Thorfinn laughed as Professor McGonagall metaphorically blasted her way out of the chamber, with Professor Snape following not long after. Harry looked sheepish in response to the implication, struggling to offer more than a shrug while his head of house marched in their direction.

"Potter!" McGonagall called out, her usual strong accent laced with the thickness of emotion. She came to a stern halt in front of the two champions, while Snape swept past the group with only a sneer of acknowledgement poking out of his curtained hair. "What are the two of you still doing here?"

"Talking. What else?" Thorfinn answered tactlessly, making Professor McGonagall tense and look him up and down with a critical eye.

"Well," she began, "perhaps this conversation should be saved for tomorrow morning, after everyone has had time to sleep on the events of tonight."

"I don't feel much of a need to sleep on the belief that Potter here did not put his name in that Goblet, professor." Thorfinn retorted. "My opinion will not be changed by the time I wake up tomorrow… it's a shame, really, that no one seemed to believe him."

"Off to bed." Professor McGonagall ordered, clearing her throat as if she were trying to swallow her own doubts. "Go on, the both of you." Harry scurried up the marble staircase immediately, but Thorfinn remained rooted to the ground. A faculty member from another school would most certainly not scare him. As far as he was concerned, this woman held no power over him (despite the fact that the hard glare coming his way was potentially harsh enough to make even Karkaroff stumble).

"And what if I don't want to turn in for the night?" Thorfinn goaded. "Hogwarts rules are not Durmstrang rules, after all."

"If you do not return to your ship immediately, Mr Rowle, I will call for numerous members of staff to escort you there." McGonagall threatened. "And while I am not hugely familiar with headmaster Karkaroff on a personal basis, I'm certain that he would be furious with the embarrassment inflicted upon him as a result of your petulant actions."

"No need to be such a bitch about it." He uttered under his breath as he began to walk away, aware of the wrath that he would have to face if those circumstances were actually to occur. Professor McGonagall kept a sharp eye on him as he exited the entrance hall, oblivious of the fact that Professor Dumbledore had appeared behind her.

"Interesting one, isn't he?" said Dumbledore, making McGonagall jump in surprise. On more light-hearted occasions she may have playfully scolded him for popping up in such a way, but she was beyond drained in spite of recent events. "I requested that Karkaroff and Maxime provide basic information on all of their students for the safety of the young people here, and it was somewhat of a surprise to see a Rowle listed with all but no background material."

"I thought the last of the Rowles were taken down during the Auror raid-"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, the usual glimmer in his eyes absent. "I too was led to believe that story… it makes me wonder how Karkaroff found him, especially when the boy possesses a diluted English accent."

"Diluted?" Professor McGonagall repeated.

"Indeed, though it is hard to place the region."

"Perhaps spending time at Hogwarts will clear it of the sounds he has picked up during his time hidden away at Durmstrang." She suggested. "It would be prudent to solve the mystery in light of the magic that he emitted in the chamber."

"That was definitely unexpected," agreed Dumbledore. "the power he exhibited is almost impossible to find in students. It felt well developed also, despite the fact that the volatility could be easily sensed from afar."

"Does it not worry you?"

"As a matter of fact, Minerva, the only thing that slightly concerns me, is the darkness within his magic that appeared to be working harmoniously with the light…"

* * *

The Durmstrang delegates were not as rowdy as the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students. They had still wanted to drink and celebrate once Thorfinn returned to the ship though, but the Durmstrang champion was having absolutely none of it. After only fifteen minutes of sitting beside Krum with drinks in hand, Thorfinn had grown inextricably tired and retreated to his private space.

He fell asleep that night with a record still playing and a half-finished drink on the wooden floor beside his bed. Only two days at Hogwarts and Thorfinn was already beyond exhausted, having been exposed to more than one social situation with people that he was entirely unfamiliar with. Alongside that, of course, was the fact that he was officially a Triwizard champion and the sole representative of the prestigious Durmstrang Institute.

The pressure was piling up unbelievably fast, and all Thorfinn could do was sleep through it. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism; he knew that he was not the only person who slept in order to avoid his demanding responsibilities.

Breakfast in the morning had been missed. Thankfully, Karkaroff had not been by aggressively banging on Thorfinn's door. It was a Sunday after all… a day of rest. And well rested he was when he exited his solitude around the time of midday, happy that he did not have to wait around for a full meal.

There were a couple of house elves on the ship that were more than happy to serve up two chicken and cheese sandwiches and a side salad. This was a blessing in disguise for Thorfinn Rowle, as many of the students had been waiting around so that they could familiarise themselves more with the surprising choice. A lot of the pupils in the Slytherin house specifically were eager to approach the pureblood wizard, as rumours regarding the Rowle heritage and their traditional loyalties had quickly spread. Draco Malfoy had already owled his father with the news, as had Theodore Nott.

In the evening, after a jog round the Black Lake (that had been interrupted by a few undeniably irritating giggling fifth years) and some weight training near the forest where he wouldn't be bothered, Thorfinn decided to look into what else Hogwarts had to offer. The sun had all but set while he strolled around the grounds, admiring the character of the cobbles and the short cut of the patches of grass.

The late autumn chill of the start of November had also taken its toll, and Thorfinn had found himself buttoning up his smart, navy coat. His hands were deep in his pockets as he walked around in circles, frequently forgetting what courtyard led to where. It was still interesting, despite the stares that the few students he had passed had sent his way. So much for flying under the radar now that everyone saw him as both a reputable Rowle and a Triwizard champion… the attention was already making him feel the urge to snap. An explosion of his magic would be undoubtedly soothing.

As the nippy nature of the elements worsened and the atmosphere began to darken further, Thorfinn felt the desire to have a relatively quick look around the castle while it was unusually quiet. He presumed that many students were racing to catch up on the homework they had neglected, as it was a Sunday evening after all. The swift exploration had soon become more drawn out than intended, but Thorfinn had been thoroughly consumed by the vast array of paintings that lined a multitude of Hogwarts' walls. They were all so different and it was unquestionably fascinating.

Many of the paintings that had noticed Thorfinn had offered polite greetings, and the most interesting ones had spewed words that sounded more like abuse. He had a good laugh at those, not at all offended by the insults as he had dealt with a lot worse growing up. What the ruder paintings called out was similar to the banter he had learned long ago to absorb calmly, and his amusement must have been sensed by the resident poltergeist.

"What's the joke, big bloke?" Peeves cackled, swooping down out of nowhere before flying circles around Thorfinn. "Peevesy knows all the jokes – I'm in on all the gags – and I do declare, fine fellow, that you let me in on your troublesome ways before I-"

"Before you what?" Thorfinn asked bluntly, his tone deep although there was the slightest hint of amusement. He remained still in the empty corridor, using his pocket to conceal the firm grip on his wand. The poltergeist would most definitely not be having the last laugh if he were to agitate Thorfinn Rowle.

"Ha! I know you hate the rules, big bloke. Your argument with Minnie last night was the highlight of my year – would've been the best thing in Peevesy's life, too, if not for my age. Seen too many things, pulled too many practical jokes. All the rage!"

"Fascinating."

"An attitude?" Peeves yelled in a high-pitched voice. "An attitude, you dare! Mock Peeves and you shall meet your end – my water balloon collection is not to be underestimated."

"Wouldn't dream of mocking you, pal." Thorfinn stated, making Peeves freeze in place to his right. "If you ever need help pissing someone off, you've got someone to pop up on. I hate people, Peeves."

"Ha, yes! Ha, I knew you were special, laughing at these ridiculous paintings. Snitches, they are!"

"Snitches are terrible." Thorfinn agreed, unable to hold back a smirk in response to the troublesome poltergeist.

"I can't wait to cause some uproar when you're around, big bloke! I hope you laugh. I'll laugh with you of course, because all of my jokes are funny."

"I'm sure they are."

"Well," Peeves chirped. "I've got some plotting to do – there's some old torches I've had my eye on but old Filch is trying to keep me from them, the coot! If he tries to stop Peevesy again he'll be splattered with flying figs, I tell you. Never mind that though, I'll be seeing you soon, _pal_."

And with that Peeves blasted off down the corridor, cackling to himself as he schemed. Thorfinn simply exhaled, but the amusement shone prominently in his sharp blue eyes.

"So…" He muttered, setting off back to the Durmstrang ship. "That just happened."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The few days following Thorfinn's initial exploration passed by rather uneventfully. Most of his time was spent with his classmates on the Durmstrang ship, as well as training in both magic and fitness on the nearby grounds. Karkaroff had been undeniably keeping an even sterner eye on him since the blow up in the chamber, resulting in minimal opportunities to explore the quieter areas of Hogwarts. Thorfinn had only been able to sneak in twice, and the second time Peeves had made his presence known.

It had been relatively late in the evening but there were still small numbers of students roaming the historical corridors. Two insignificant Ravenclaw boys in their third year were passing by when it happened, understandably gaping as they momentarily stared up at Thorfinn in awe. The young man in question had ignored them entirely, finding that it was easier to remain calm when boys like them were out of mind and soon to be out of sight.

Due to their attention being wholly on Thorfinn, the two Ravenclaws were easily susceptible to the troublesome games of the resident poltergeist. Neither one of them noticed the way in which the floor in front of them suddenly quivered, clearly exposed to a naughty enchantment. As both took another step, Peeves popped out of a nearby enclave; Thorfinn loathed to admit that although it was not outwardly obvious, his heart had flinched in his chest at the abrupt appearance and magic had already travelled to his left fingertips.

"Ha!" Peeves cackled, making Thorfinn turn to see the commotion that the two boys were creating. Both pairs of shiny black shoes were disappearing into the ground that had been altered, making it appear as if the two boys were being pulled gradually through the floor. The enchanted circle continued to waver, generating ripples that made the space look very much like quicksand.

"What the heck?" The shorter boy of the two asked in a noticeably Irish accent. He had spiky auburn hair and glossy confusion in his hazel eyes.

"Merlin's beard!" The other Ravenclaw cursed, sounding positively Welsh. "Peeves!" He bellowed at the screeching poltergeist as the troublemaker flew circles around a chuckling Thorfinn. The Durmstrang champion had never seen such an enchantment before, and had already made a note to ask Peeves if there were a spell he could learn to mirror the trick.

"Haaaaaa," Peeves howled. "I just had a _sinking_ feeling about this corridor tonight, young lads!" Thorfinn choked at the pun. He looked back to the boys after clearing his throat, noticing that their ankles had just been submerged.

"Peeves, let us out." The Irish Ravenclaw demanded, whipping out his wand to try and counter the enchantment.

"Can't do that, I'm afraid." Peeves retorted. "Big bloke here can pull you out if he'd like, before you reach your neck. Of course, I implore he gives Peevesy a rating first. One to ten, pal to pal."

"A strong seven, I'd say." Thorfinn answered, offering Peeves a soft nod. He knew he would have to physically pull the two boys out of the sinking floor and the thought of the closeness was already putting him on edge.

"A seven!" Peeves repeated. "Good, but I must do better." He flew a few firm circles around Thorfinn before disappearing, leaving the young man to clean up the mess that had been caused.

Thorfinn grimaced, sighing through his nose as he approached the two Ravenclaws. Careful not to step on the quivering ground himself, Thorfinn used his height to bend from a distance and grab the back of both of their robes. In one quick movement, he yanked the pair out of their sinking situation. Their legs dangled feverishly until their feet were eventually back on solid ground as a result of the aid of the Durmstrang champion.

"Thanks, mate," the Welsh boy grumbled, straightening out his robes whilst checking to see if his shoes had sustained damage.

"Yeah, cheers." The other student said while Thorfinn turned to leave. "Peeves is such a little shit."

* * *

After a morning of intense magical training, having to take part in the press for the Daily Prophet had left Thorfinn in an unconventionally foul mood. Upon arrival, he had drifted naturally to a quiet corner of the room and sulked while Cedric and Fleur engaged in a pleasant conversation. Thorfinn wished that he was back in his room on the ship – his room at Durmstrang would be even better but that was nothing more than an unattainable dream at this point – because the uncomfortable situation seemed to be utterly pointless. The voice of the woman in magenta robes was gradually driving him further up the wall, too.

Harry Potter had been pulled out of the room by the agitating witch so quickly that Thorfinn hadn't even registered his arrival, leaving everyone else stood around uselessly as they waited. Thorfinn's impatience was growing insurmountably.

Eventually, though, the Weighing of the Wands was set to begin. Harry had sunk down into the seat between Cedric and Thorfinn, looking noticeably inferior between the two older students; Thorfinn, specifically, had him looking like little more than a dwarf. Mr Ollivander chose to observe Fleur's wand first, and Harry couldn't help but notice the way in which Thorfinn anxiously fiddled with his wand underneath the velvet-covered table. Harry guessed that the jittery twisting of the wand was down to the fact that some magical people detested the idea of strangers wielding their most prized possession, not knowing why else a strong wizard such as the Durmstrang champion would be on edge.

Cedric was next, and upon the mention of wand maintenance Harry rushed to wipe down his wand on his robes. Fleur gave him a very patronising look when several sparks shot out the end of it, making Thorfinn chuckle under his breath. Harry chanced a glance up at the Durmstrang champion, noting that the hard glare directed at Mr Ollivander had glossed over in amusement following Fleur's reaction.

"Mr Rowle, if you please."

Thorfinn scowled before inching his way over to Mr Ollivander. The intense grip on his wand had made his knuckles whiten and his forearms tremble as he held out the possession. Mr Ollivander took the wand cautiously, his wide eyes staring up at Thorfinn while his fingertips ran over the wood.

"Hmm," said Mr Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I… however…" He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. "Rather thicker than one usually sees… quite rigid, in fact I'd say that it could be classified as unyielding… precisely thirteen inches…"

Thorfinn couldn't help but make a cocky remark about those last comments in his head.

"Yes…" hummed Mr Ollivander once more, "unyielding indeed." He looked back up at Thorfinn for a long moment, before holding up the wand so that the inactive end was in line with his left eye. "Magnificent… the way in which a wand chooses a wizard. Unyielding, compressed. Is this by any chance an exquisite form of vine?"

_Vine?_ Harry thought to himself. _Hermione's wand is vine and it looks absolutely nothing like that. _The wand was much darker than any of the vine wands that everyone in the room had seen in the past; it was almost pitch black, but when Mr Ollivander twisted it under the prominent light, it reflected tremendously iridescent chocolate browns within the creases.

"It is vine." Thorfinn grumbled in confirmation, itching to take it back.

"Truly fascinating." The wand-maker stated. "Vine itself is rather rare these days… but this, well, it has to be at _least_ a century in age. Do you find it to be sensitive?"

"Never really thought about it."

"Vine is notoriously choosey, you see, Mr Rowle. Traditionally, vine wands connect with witches and wizards that possess depths hidden inside, while also seeking a greater purpose. This wand does present me with that sense, yes… however, it's projecting much more than tradition. There is enough power in this wand for perhaps two… mediocre – shall we say – wizards? It has something questionable within, of that I am most certain, and not all intentions may be pure…" Mr Ollivander paused briefly. "Perchance that may be a result of a conflicting core. Are you aware of what it is, Mr Rowle?"

"Are you?" Thorfinn shot back testily.

"For once not, young man," answered Mr Ollivander, finally handing the wand back over to the owner without attempting to cast a spell. The second that it connected with Thorfinn's right palm, a small white spark spread painlessly from the centre crease to each of his fingertips. "I had thought that it was perhaps a thestral tail-hair, but now I realise that I must be mistaken…"

"If you really must know," Thorfinn muttered, so quietly that no one other than Mr Ollivander could hear, "within this wand is a string… from the cloak of a dementor."

"I'm sorry!" Rita Skeeter piped up from the corner of the room, clearly not apologetic in the slightest. "Could you repeat that? The Quick-Quotes Quill was unable to catch the _big_ reveal."

"That wand must wear on you," Mr Ollivander whispered, catching Thorfinn before he moved to take a seat, "if you find yourself in need of a… safer wand… my shop in Diagon Alley is always open to you."

"Your concern is noted, sir." Thorfinn said coolly as he moved to take a seat, allowing everyone to re-enter the conversation. "But I think my wand and I get along just fine. It understands me, after all. It chose me for a reason."

"Well," Mr Ollivander coughed, watching Thorfinn with a trepidation that everyone in the room could feel. "That leaves us with Mr Potter." Harry got to his feet immediately, hoping to break the high tension that had settled heavily over the room. As he handed over his wand, Thorfinn tucked his own away, incredibly thankful that the nature of his wand core would not be on the front page of a newspaper the very next day.

Mr Ollivander spent just as much time admiring Harry's wand as he did with Thorfinn's, leading to both Fleur and Cedric feeling slightly inadequate as they moved onto the obligatory photoshoot. By the end of it, Thorfinn felt an incredibly strong desire to fling himself off of one of Hogwarts' bridges. He was more than ready to return to his solitude for the remainder of the day, utterly fed up with the champion duties and the people that he had been surrounded by. Rita Skeeter had been especially infuriating, and Bagman's consistently joyous attitude was irritating in itself.

Unfortunately, Thorfinn had soon come to learn that he could never seem to get what he desired as of late. Because just as he moved to make a quick escape with Karkaroff, Dumbledore swooped in. There was a classic sparkle in the wizard's eyes, but also an underlying look of inquisitive apprehension that made Thorfinn instinctively strengthen his Occlumency shields to their most guarded state.

"I apologise for stopping you, Professor Karkaroff," said Dumbledore courteously, "but I was hoping that I would be so lucky to catch Mr Rowle, here, for a brief chat." Karkaroff's jaw tensed as he stepped away from the door, allowing everyone to exit the room so that it was just the three of them.

"With respect, Dumbledore," Karkaroff ground out, "I believe it is time for dinner. My boy needs fuel, I'm afraid… perhaps some other time."

"Ah, but I insist-"

"Well get on with it then." The Durmstrang headmaster snapped.

"-that the conversation occur now, between just myself and Mr Rowle."

"That's a preposterous request!"

"It's alright, sir." Thorfinn said tersely. "I'll talk with the professor. It won't be a long talk, I'm positive." Karkaroff looked sharply between the two before storming off, furiously grumbling to himself as he disappeared from the corridor.

"You know," began Dumbledore, clasping his hands behind his back, "I couldn't help but notice, that you look a little paler than usual today…"

"Professor Karkaroff has me training hard." Thorfinn shrugged. He knew better than to try to lie to Albus Dumbledore, and had silently decided that he would play along in order to gauge what the wizard wanted from him.

"Walk with me." Dumbledore requested calmly, nodding towards the exit. Thorfinn followed obediently and they set off through the castle at a slow pace.

"Where're we going?" Many areas of Hogwarts were still very much alien to the Durmstrang student; the fleeting moments of exploration could only get him so far.

"I believe a short stroll to the hospital wing would be prudent – I hope you do not mind."

"Don't mind, sir." Thorfinn responded. "Curious about your reasoning, though."

"I thought you might make use of a little… pick me up."

"That honestly won't be necessary, sir." He said as they waited calmly for the moving staircase to come their way. "I've dealt with a lot worse than a bit of fatigue, there's no need to waste a potion or anything."

"Stocks are plentiful this year, Mr Rowle, of that I can assure you." Dumbledore stated, striding onto the staircase. "And regardless… I'm of a strong belief that help at Hogwarts will always be given – to those who are in need of it, of course."

"If you say so…" Thorfinn mumbled.

"Now, onto a different matter. You see, I hoped to speak with you about that wand of yours. What did you say was the core?"

"I didn't."

"Well, I could always point the same query towards Mr Ollivander…" goaded Dumbledore, rather deviously if Thorfinn did say so himself.

"Fine." The Durmstrang champion scowled. "A dementor's cloak string."

"Ah, truly out of the ordinary." Dumbledore conceded. "Ever since you claimed the wand, have you felt any effects which can be related to that of a dementor? My concern is purely for your wellbeing above all else, Mr Rowle… I have no doubts that such a fragment from a dementor could bring forth negativity, perhaps even corruption, also."

"I was just as miserable before I got the wand, sir." Thorfinn answered after a long pause, only partly joking. "Anything that comes out of my wand is from me; it's a bond as strong as anyone's, and we understand each other perfectly."

"And why would you say that you were unhappy before?"

"Rough childhood." Thorfinn commented bluntly, unwilling to elaborate as he followed Dumbledore inside the hospital wing. There were a few students scattered around on the beds – likely because it was cold season – and Madam Pomfrey was moving between a select few attentively. Dumbledore caught the attention of the witch swiftly and pulled her towards a quieter area of the wing, leaving Thorfinn to stand hopelessly by himself.

His hands had instinctively moved to the pockets of his trousers as a result of awkwardness, and he couldn't help but glare harshly at every Hogwarts student that bothered to gape in his direction. Hopefully, the novelty to the Triwizard Tournament would soon diminish drastically. One boy specifically was casting unwanted attention in Thorfinn's direction, so the young man in question decided to take a few steps forward to escape the Hufflepuff's line of sight. The minor movement had not seemed to be important in the slightest, but perhaps Thorfinn deeply underestimated the length of both his legs and strides.

The sensation of unique eyes on him made Thorfinn's neck prickle immediately. He turned his neck only slightly to the left, and found himself in line with the end of a bed that had been obscured on either side by the curtains. He chanced a glance upwards to see who exactly the staring offender was, only to feel the developing words of abuse dissolve like salt on the end of his tongue.

There she was: the girl from the Great Hall. She was watching him cautiously with a flat expression, cradling an empty glass gently between her hands. Of course, a face devoid of emotion was not the preferred expression he wished to receive, but it was better than nothing if it meant seeing her up close. Thorfinn glanced back at Dumbledore and Pomfrey, noting that they were in the midst of a serious discussion. Deciding that he would not be missed, Thorfinn moved closer to the bed so that he would be obscured by the curtain.

"Flu?" He asked tactlessly in greeting, instantaneously chewing on the inside of his cheek when he realised how strange that must have come across. Nice one, Thorfinn.

"Hex, actually." She responded softly, in an accent that he found noticeably more attractive than the ones he had grown up around. Thorfinn noticed that she refrained from opening her mouth properly when she spoke and automatically became curious.

"If you don't mind me asking… what was the spell?" A pink hue rose from her neck to the top of her cheeks, and Thorfinn wondered momentarily if he'd managed to overstep. There was usually a hex for almost anything one could think of in the wizarding world, and so naturally there were a multitude that were tremendously embarrassing. He hadn't wished to embarrass her. Not at all.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, terrified that his voice would crack if he spoke again.

"Well, it was meant to hit my friend, I think," she started, notably going out of her way to provide a bit of context. Thorfinn felt his tense shoulders loosen a little, moving to take a seat in the empty chair beside her bed in order to not tower over her as she continued, "it made my front teeth start to grow a bit."

"Can I see?" He asked, making her look away from him. "Swear down I won't laugh."

"Swear down?" She repeated, turning back towards Thorfinn with interest. "Are you positive you're from Durmstrang?"

"The old English slips through sometimes," Thorfinn explained with a slight smirk, adjusting himself so that he was no longer hanging off of the rather small seat, "it only really comes back in informal situations – when the guard drops a bit. So yes, I _swear down_ I will not laugh." She smiled briefly at the surprising sincerity that he had offered her, shocking herself because the expression didn't have to be forced.

"Are they still… you know…"

"Not at all." She shot him a doubtful glare. "Honestly. Your teeth all look normal and you have a very nice smile."

"Ah, Mr Rowle," said Dumbledore, interrupting the pair as the moment between them began to intensify, "I see you have met the wonderful Miss Granger."

"I have." Thorfinn answered coldly, the warmth in his tone eradicated entirely. Hermione watched as the guard bounced back up and wished that Dumbledore had waited just a little bit longer before interjecting.

"And how are you, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore questioned, angling his stance slightly more in her direction. "Madam Pomfrey mentioned you'd had a nasty time with a hex earlier…"

"I'm fine now, professor. Thank you."

"Of course." He replied. "Well, I believe it is time for me to retreat for dinner… once you are finished acquainting yourself with Hermione, Mr Rowle, I've requested that Madam Pomfrey leave the token of goodwill on the edge of her desk. Have a good evening, the both of you." Thorfinn watched sharply as the Hogwarts headmaster edged away, almost forgetting about the current predicament. He was sat beside a random witch's bed, after all. Well, perhaps random was a lie; she was the only girl in the castle that was the opposite of insignificant to him.

"Token of goodwill?" Hermione asked finally. Thorfinn's neck snapped round attentively, and he couldn't decide if the cracking sound ringing in his ears was a whip inside of his head or a chance lightning strike outside.

"Dumbledore decided that I was looking a bit pale and insisted that I come for the pick me up he offered."

"And what did he really want?" She questioned intuitively.

"A private chat where he could pry." Thorfinn shrugged. "But that doesn't matter, anyway. You were telling me about that hex from earlier…"

"It's not a very interesting story," said Hermione, "I wouldn't want to bore you with any of the details about Harry and the badges."

"So you're quite close to Harry Potter?" Thorfinn inquired. It was a purely selfish question based on purely selfish desires. Hermione seemed so intriguing – with beauty that for some reason was not realised – and it would be a relatively large bump in the smooth road if she was dating Hogwarts champion Harry Potter.

"We've been best friends since our first year." Hermione divulged, reaching up to softly pull an unruly curl of hair behind her ear. "I've been spending all of my time with him recently though, since no one else believes he didn't enter the Tournament."

"Well," frowned Thorfinn, "he obviously didn't care to tell you this, but on the very first night I told him I knew the truth."

"Really?" She asked in surprise. "It was the look on his face, wasn't it? Oh, I felt so bad for him…"

"Face, eyes, same thing." He agreed, drifting from the uncomfortable chair to perch on the end of the bed. Hermione seemed to have no issue with the movement, and he took it as a minor win. "At least he's got you looking out for him… it's obvious you're intelligent enough to help him. All I have, on the other hand, is Karkaroff growling in my ear and working me to the bone. I'd trade with Potter any day of the week."

"I'm in the hospital wing because of a hex on my teeth," deadpanned Hermione, silently flattered by the praise, "that doesn't really signal helpful."

"This doesn't count." Thorfinn said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's a petty blip."

"But it was unbelievably embarrassing when it happened." She sighed. "It feels like more than just a blip – I don't think I'll be able to forget about it anytime soon." It looked like she needed a hug. Really needed one. But Thorfinn was scared to overstep; surely it would come across as weird. Why would she accept a hug from him after one odd conversation in the hospital wing? "I know you probably don't want to hear all of this, but I've always been really insecure about my teeth, you know? The front two were always a bit larger than the rest and that hex just, emphasised it."

"I don't think you should be insecure about anything." Thorfinn said gently. "And um, you can say no and it's fine, but… can I give you a hug? I know that probably sounds incredibly weird but it just looks like you need it-"

"You can give me a hug." Hermione laughed at his rambling, having expected the Durmstrang champion to be nothing like he actually was. Students were hesitant around him for good reason; he was physically superior and the glares she had seen him shoot at other people were nothing more than chilling. Even though there was something about him that screamed dark magic, Thorfinn had been good to her despite his darkening reputation and if she tried to tell her peers about this conversation she highly doubted that they would believe her.

The hug was unbelievably warm too, despite the coldness he often exhibited. Thorfinn was just so large in comparison to boys like Harry and Ron and it was a nice change. It was as if the Durmstrang champion was a teddy bear in all honesty, and it was not lost on Hermione that it was only for her.

Hermione relished in the idea; Thorfinn did exactly the same.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It had taken Thorfinn quite a while to discover the location of the Hogwarts library because of the schedule Karkaroff had forced upon him. Viktor Krum was the person to thank for the unearthing, really, as he had apparently been spending a lot of time up there. Thorfinn had followed him one evening and realised how infuriating the life of a celebrity truly was. Krum's fan club shadowed him everywhere… even to the library. Thorfinn himself had been suffering from an insurmountable number of stares; they were nothing in comparison to Viktor's stalker problem. To be completely honest, if Thorfinn was in Viktor's position he thought he'd probably be tempted to tie a brick to his ankle and jump into the Black Lake.

Scouring a new library for magical knowledge had not been as fun as Thorfinn had anticipated. There were a multitude of texts, yes, but it was obvious to him that the _restricted_ _section_ contained all of the interesting material. He had overheard a few seventh year Gryffindors talking about a note that they had received from Professor McGonagall that granted permission to take a book from the exclusive zone, and the urge to splinter all of the wooden shelves around him rose up rapidly.

If that was the only way to access the one interesting area of the library, then he had no hope. That Professor McGonagall clearly hated his guts for understandable reasons, and he hadn't formally met any of the other members of staff. There was Dumbledore, of course, but Thorfinn knew that the subsequent prying was not worth it for a pathetic little note.

Knowing he would be unable to solve that issue during his very first visit, Thorfinn drifted instinctively over towards the charms section, knowing that the school did not teach the dark arts and therefore there would be no devoted area. He quickly sought out the most advanced selection of books on charms that were outside of the restricted section and sifted through them for new titles.

The search was soon interrupted by the embarrassingly loud giggles of a group of three Slytherin girls. They were most likely in their fifth year but were not worrying about their O.W.L.s at all, instead devoting their time to something as menial as watching Viktor Krum read. Thorfinn looked away from the irritating group, loudly snapping the book in his hands to a close before ramming it back on the shelf.

Unfortunately for Thorfinn, the furious noise had gained their attention and they quickly moved on to whisper loudly about him, instead. He could feel his agitation growing by the second and ducked behind a nearby bookshelf, hoping to avoid shattering the window behind the girls. It wouldn't be very productive to get stuck explaining the damages to the castle to the Hogwarts faculty.

During the escape, Thorfinn had somehow ended up in the potions section. He groaned quietly, throwing his head back slightly before glancing around for either a way back to charms, transfiguration, or whatever they taught in place of the dark arts. Potions and Thorfinn didn't mix; he had never been a disastrous brewer, but there were other aspects of magic that he found more power and interest in, so had devoted his time to studying those instead. Actually putting his magic to work was his specialty.

"Lost?" An amused voice asked quietly from somewhere behind him. Thorfinn quickly turned and was automatically drawn to Hermione Granger. He wondered how he hadn't noticed her when he stumbled upon the section, but supposed he was busy trying to remain calm and escape from the attention. Any other time Thorfinn would have noticed her… surely, he would.

Hermione sat alone at a small table; there were numerous educational texts scattered across the occupied space, alongside various pieces of parchment as well as her pot of ink. One of her arms rested on the edge of the desk, and Thorfinn watched for a moment as she twirled the bottom of her quill round in circles with her fingertips.

"Slightly." He finally replied, letting his eyes fall on her petite form. She was still in her uniform, but the time spent working relentlessly in the library had resulted in a couple of crinkles in her grey sweatshirt. Her robes were thrown lazily over the back of the chair, and her sleeves had found a home resting at her elbows. Hermione looked magnificent in his opinion, even with her hair thrown up into some sort of desperate attempt at a bun… or perhaps it was originally a chaotic ponytail. She must have noticed his glance, because she quickly tugged her wild hair out of the hold and let it flow over her shoulders as it often did.

"Would you like directions?" Hermione asked. "Or is the allure of potions strong enough to make you grab a book first?"

"Definitely not allured by potions," said Thorfinn, nodding towards the empty chair tucked into the opposite side of her table, "could I sit for a while, though?"

"Of course," she smiled, "sorry I've taken up all the space. I'll move a few things-"

"Don't bother." Thorfinn chuckled quietly as he sat himself down, yet again struggling with the design of the Hogwarts furniture. The size issue was beginning to become awfully too common for it to go unnoticed. "I'm not looking to get any work done… I was hoping to pull you away from yours for a bit, honestly. We had a nice chat the other day, I think, and I've been looking forward to running into you." Hermione's hazel eyes widened in surprise and for a moment she had absolutely no idea what to say. Was he just being polite or was he doing a bit more than that? Was that flirting? Boys never spoke with her in such a way… he'd complimented her in the hospital wing too…

"Um, well I suppose Snape's essay isn't due for tomorrow." Hermione muttered, slowly putting down her quill. What was she supposed to say now? Luckily for Hermione, Thorfinn wasn't as lost for words as he smirked because of the small victory.

"Is it a potions essay?"

"It is."

"Then I feel absolutely no guilt about distracting you from it," he shrugged, grabbing one of the closed books nearer to his side of the table so that he could absentmindedly fiddle with the fragile binding, "there's a few more interesting subjects than that anyway."

"Oh, really?" Hermione pushed, wondering how he would dig his way out of the hole he'd just dropped himself in. She loved her academics and for some reason she was under the illusion that Thorfinn felt the same; he was chosen as the Durmstrang champion after all, indicating that he was a wizard devoted to his magical practices. Apparently that presumption may not be the case, and Hermione could not help but feel a soft wave of disappointment wash over her. Boys…

"If you like it then you like it." Thorfinn acknowledged. "But I'm more of a charms and transfiguration fan myself." Well, she supposed that wasn't too bad. At least he excelled in some of the subjects that she thoroughly enjoyed; if he had said his favourite subject was divination she would have probably found some excuse to sprint away.

"Why those?"

"I believe it's just a mix of what I enjoy and what my magic likes," he began to explain, "people think that my magic is pretty volatile and I'm inclined to believe them. Subjects like charms are an outlet… to channel magic and be consistently active with a wand. It's probably the reason I never got more into stuff like potions – got a passing grade and moved on, that's it really."

"So you wouldn't like subjects such as divination, either?" Hermione asked hopefully. It would be amazing to connect with someone about the ridiculousness of the topic.

"Definitely not," scoffed Thorfinn, "all that is, is chatting shit. I don't see the point in wasting hours staring at tea leaves when you can be learning all there is to learn from texts about things like duelling."

"Well on that we can agree, though I likely wouldn't have described it so crudely…"

"Sorry." He chuckled. "Gentlemanly pureblood Rowle has left the building, I'm afraid. Karkaroff would be fuming if he knew, of course, but I'm confident you won't tell anyone the big secret."

"Oh, no, definitely not," she denied quickly, "I wouldn't want to get you into trouble."

"Thank you, it's appreciated…"

"Could you please be careful with that, though?" Hermione asked suddenly, gesturing towards the book still in his large hands. Although he hadn't started picking away at the material just yet, it was not one of her own and she was aware that Madam Pince would be furious if she returned the text in a damaged state. "I was warned that the binding was rather fragile." Thorfinn simply gave her a sarcastic look of dread, finally glancing down to see what book he was on the verge of injuring.

"Defence against the dark arts…"

"Are you not familiar with the subject?" Hermione asked in surprise, watching thoughtfully as he flicked open the cover and scanned the contents. If Thorfinn wasn't acquainted with defence against the dark arts, then were the rumours true? Was Durmstrang truly that dark of an Institution?

"We do learn some of this." Thorfinn mumbled. "It was a couple of years ago though – I think our version of the subject has a… wider range of content."

"Wider range?" She questioned, hoping that her presumptions were not correct. Logic dictated that they were, however, and Hermione was aware that her logic was not often wrong.

"We just call it the dark arts," he responded carelessly, as if studying dark magic at school was completely acceptable, "though I probably shouldn't have confirmed that… there's no trouble when it's simply rumours."

"What's it like?" Hermione asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "Studying the dark arts?" She clarified when Thorfinn did not respond immediately.

"Promise not to tell?"

"Promise…"

_Not to tell anyone but Harry, _Hermione thought to herself rebelliously. _If he has to fight any of the other champions in the Tournament, I refuse to let him go in blind._

"I think it's absolutely fascinating." Thorfinn admitted, watching as she tensed slightly at the admission. He truly hoped she was as intelligent as he thought that she was, so that she would at least understand his reasoning even if she did not agree. "There are so many distinctions and limitations to just good and bad magic… but, when you start to just see it as magic as a whole, so many doors are opened. I don't see dark and light in a black and white way… magic just _is_, for me."

"That's a… interesting way to look at it." Hermione said slowly. Thorfinn could see the gears in her mind turning rapidly, as they were reflected in the light of her brilliant brown eyes.

"You'll come to find I'm very interesting." He commented bluntly.

"I highly doubt you'll be willing to divulge your interesting secrets to me, Thorfinn," he couldn't help but smile at the sound of his name coming from her pretty mouth, "and based on the one you've just shared, I'm unsure of whether or not I'd like to hear the rest…"

"I'm not a dark wizard, if that's why you're worried. Well, certainly not when you're around anyway."

"Me?" Hermione let out before she could stop herself.

"I hope this doesn't come across as forward as I fear it might, but I can feel your magic, slightly." Thorfinn explained. "Of course, I don't go out of my way to touch just yours; Dumbledore's is pretty potent so I sense that, and that McGonagall woman emits some decent force too. But yours… it's incredible, if you don't mind me saying. Like, it's not at the stage of that McGonagall just yet but it'll probably surpass her in time – for now, though, it's just so pure and responsive… I have a mix of both definitions of magic and the side you'd refer to as _light_ just… thrives."

"Are you…" Hermione trailed off in shock, uncharacteristically speechless. "Are you implying that we have a connection through magic? After just two conversations?"

"Magic responds to magic as magic likes." He shrugged. "Your magic is phenomenal. If you're going to take anything away from this chat, take that compliment."

"Can you tell me more?" She asked eventually, suddenly noticing that Madam Pince was watching them like a hawk. Had she really been so absorbed in the conversation that she had missed the stern glare from the resident librarian?

"About my magic? Or what I can sense of yours?"

"About how you developed such a level opinion about it all." Hermione clarified. "Because I do think you're right about the strict distinction; I've no desire to explore the dark arts myself, of course, but what you think about the limitations _could_ be deemed correct… to some degree, at least. My opinion is probably biased at this point, to be honest. All of the dark magic I've seen during my time in the wizarding world has had malicious intent, but perhaps you've seen different if you've been exposed to it in an academic setting."

"A lot of it is perception, to be fair." He responded, only to be viciously shushed by Madam Pince from where she stood a few bookshelves away. Thorfinn recoiled with a frown, looking noticeably offended. In fact, it seemed as if he were about to pipe up with something rather rude. Hermione acted on instinct, lobbing her unfinished potions essay at his chest rather fiercely. Thorfinn caught it reflexively, momentarily confused. "What was that for?"

"You are not getting me kicked out of the library!" She whisper-shouted. "The common room is busy at this time and the girls in my dorm won't stop talking about you-your classmates, so this is the only place where I can work in peace."

"Talking about _me_?" Thorfinn smirked, playfully tossing the parchment back at her. Hermione swatted it away just as it neared her face; she'd have to start from scratch later, because there was no way Snape would give her full marks on an essay that looked as if it had been trampled on by a pack of centaurs.

"They just talk about how you're… you know…"

"I don't know." He teased.

"Tall, and stuff." Hermione grumbled, throwing the essay back at him once more due to his developing laughter. Thorfinn simply threw it her way again, resulting in a back and forth between the two.

"Come on, Hermione," he goaded, "what do your roommates say?"

"Why do you care?" Was the retort he received before being hit with an empty roll of parchment; apparently she'd gotten bored while waiting for him to throw the potions essay back.

"I don't care." Thorfinn admitted. "I hate people knowing me, actually. But you've made me curious – if it annoys you, I want to know."

As the two continued throwing items back and forth, a vein rose to prominence on Madam Pince's forehead. She began advancing on the pair furiously, all lenience for studious Gryffindor Hermione Granger having diminished.

"Your ego is clearly the size of this castle, I see no reason to inflate it."

"So they say ego inflating things?" He grinned, scrunching up one of the blank pieces of parchment into a ball before lobbing it directly at her chest. Hermione glared, and he realised he may have managed to hit a rather… sensitive feminine area. An intentional accident, obviously.

"They talk about how big you are," she ground out, throwing the ball so harshly that it flew over his left shoulder and landed on the floor just behind their table.

"They call me fat?" Thorfinn asked with a mock incredulous voice. "That's not very nice of them to say-"

"You know I didn't mean it like that!"

"Well maybe if you clarify I won't take it the wrong way."

"_Oh, he must be so muscular under those coats. I wish he wasn't so many years above us… there's no fit boys like him at Hogwarts, especially not in our year. Can you imagine how easy it would be for him pick me up and throw me around a bit? Ugh, I'd do anything for a man like that_ – Lavender Brown, just in case you were wondering." Hermione added her own snarky tone at the end.

"I wasn't." Thorfinn stated as Madam Pince approached, accidently stepping on the ball of parchment on the floor. "But thanks for telling me – if I ever get a letter with her name on I'll know to burn it-"

"The two of you need to leave!" Madam Pince demanded from behind Thorfinn; Hermione shot him a scathing glare, but knew deep down that she was at fault also. It was hard to explain how she'd become so wrapped up in the conversation with him. Unfortunately, Hermione was now facing the consequences and getting kicked out of the library of all places. How embarrassing. "Leave. Now!"

* * *

The day of the first task approached quickly after the delightful evening which had ended with Thorfinn apologising half-heartedly and walking Hermione back to the Gryffindor tower. He'd unsurprisingly gotten lost while returning to the ship, but it was actually Peeves who had popped up out of nowhere and implied which direction was the correct one. It was certainly strange that he had developed some sort of a companionship with the troublesome poltergeist, but he definitely wouldn't complain if Peeves was cool enough to offer directions.

Thorfinn had been incredibly startled when Karkaroff had revealed that the first task would involve dragons. The Durmstrang headmaster was not privy to all of the task's details, but Thorfinn knew that the knowledge that he had managed to obtain was not likely to have been done in a manner that abided by the rules of the Tournament. The cheating was not a shock; this was Karkaroff after all, a man who allowed the teaching of dark arts at his school of only elites, while also formerly following the Dark Lord during the war years prior.

For Thorfinn, the idea of being in a ring with a dragon was not a tremendous issue. A simple curse on the eyes would disorientate it, and depending on the size and strength he knew that his magic was powerful enough to conjure up some bindings that would hold one down at least temporarily. A couple of productive visits to the Hogwarts library would do the job if that was the case… unfortunately, it was not.

"_I want you to hurt the dragon."_ Karkaroff had demanded, harshly gripping Thorfinn's shoulder. He'd only had a t-shirt on at the time and the rings cutting into his shoulder had not been pleasant. Thorfinn suspected that that was the point, however. _"You must make a statement, Rowle. Show that you are not to be threatened – that we are all superior. Dumbledore will not know what has hit him… what he has allowed inside his castle…"_

The orders had been ringing in Thorfinn's ears ever since, not even going away when he entered the tent for the champions. Surely the judges would criticise him for maiming a magical creature that they had brought in for a task? Didn't Karkaroff want him to win? Well… the headmaster was likely to be prejudiced anyway. Perhaps his biased judging would make up for what he was about to do.

Thorfinn honestly couldn't believe that he was mere minutes away from standing face to face with a dragon. He edged his way over to a more secluded area of the tent, ignoring Cedric, Fleur, and Bagman as he wished deeply for a few shots of firewhisky to quiet his mind. By the time Harry arrived, Thorfinn had already made sure that the gear they had given the champions was not on backwards; having been so deep in his thoughts all morning, he wouldn't have been surprised if the shirt was on inside out.

"Well, now we're all here – time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different – er – varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too… ah, yes… your task is to _collect_ _the_ _golden_ egg!"

Thorfinn simply looked down at his wand, holding it tightly in his large right hand. He consciously flexed his left hand as he did so, noticing Harry watching him as he repeatedly switched from fist to open palm. Getting all of the magic flowing was crucial; going out to battle a dragon while weak was not an option.

"Ladies first," said Bagman, offering the silk, purple sack to Fleur Delacour. She put a shaking hand inside the bag, and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon – a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck.

Thorfinn was the next to take his turn. He pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball and it had a number three attached. Much to everyone's horror, Thorfinn let out a sharp laugh – not unlike the ones often emitted by his headmaster – and used his index finger to stroke the head of the living model. The other three champions all looked at him incredulously; Harry winced noticeably when he tossed the dragon high into the air and let it fall back into his open palm.

It was obviously an odd reaction, but Harry (feeling positively nauseous) momentarily supposed that it was an example of a defence mechanism. To each their own…

The two Hogwarts students then picked their poison, with it being revealed that Cedric Diggory would face his dragon first.

"Well, there you are!" said Bagman. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see?" Thorfinn thought that that was rather obvious. "Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, alright? Now… Harry… could I have a quick word? Outside?"

"Er… yes," said Harry blankly, and he got up and went out of the tent with Bagman.

Thorfinn glanced back down at the dragon in his hand, and callously poked at its right eye with the tip of his thick, vine wand. The tiny dragon squirmed in disapproval before harshly nipping his thumb in retaliation.

"Imbecile…" Thorfinn grumbled, carelessly dropping the dragon on an empty stool nearby. The first whistle sounded then, and Cedric exited the tent looking as green as the accents on the Slytherin robes. It took a good fifteen minutes for Cedric to seize the golden egg, and Fleur departed next. Harry and Thorfinn were all that remained, standing on opposite sides of the tent.

"Potter," Thorfinn piped up rather randomly, catching Harry's anxious attention, "what's the crack with you and your friend?"

"Which friend?" Harry forced out, his voice cracking at the end. He was shocked that he'd been able to speak at all, considering he hadn't managed to wish Cedric good luck because of the constrictions in his throat.

"Hermione Granger." Thorfinn specified bluntly. "Heard some Hogwarts students talking about something about you two in the paper. So, I'm curious."

"She's my best friend," said Harry, "and my only friend at the moment, as pathetic as it sounds. Other than her, you're the only person that believed me when I said I didn't put my name in for this. She's been helping me get ready for today, too… we spend a lot of time together, obviously, and Rita Skeeter saw it… and now people either think we're actually a couple, or make fun of us 'cause they know better-"

"So you're just friends?" Thorfinn asked for clarification. He was quite glad that he had managed to take both his and Harry's mind off of the impending task for the time being. It was doubtful that Harry had been able to get a full sentence out all day, let alone a few in a row.

"Well yes, er, why-"

The whistle sounded once more, causing Harry to freeze up.

"Suppose that's me." Thorfinn cleared his throat, forcing the rising trepidation to fall from his face. The anxiety was soon eradicated, being replaced by a smirk of confidence. "Good luck out there, Potter. Try not to die."

Thorfinn exited the tent with a slightly mocking wave, shaking out his shoulders as he moved through the enclosure fence. No attention was given to the audience, as the loathing for people remained deep within him. Instead, his gaze sharply analysed the Chinese Fireball at the opposite end of the enclosure. It was currently rather dormant, perching over a multitude of eggs that included the golden prize. As of now, it was making no moves to attack, leaving Thorfinn to stand calmly as the crowd cheered and screamed for him to go for it.

Rather than charging in head on, Thorfinn moved slowly towards a nearby boulder. He crouched on top of it, resting his wand arm across his knee before mumbling, "Accio firewhisky." As he waited patiently for his desired object to arrive, the large crowd gradually quietened in bewilderment. Murmurs of confusion travelled throughout the stands, only to be silenced by the approaching objects.

The glass landed firmly in his palm first, followed by a bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky. Thorfinn quickly poured himself a little over half a glass-full of the beverage before holding it up in the air. At the signal of a toast, the crowd erupted.

Hermione watched on with her jaw at the floor; she could not believe he had the audacity to do such a thing. It was clear that he was very confident in his magic, but was this the true extent of his pride? Pouring a glass of firewhisky while in an enclosure with a dragon… she doubted even a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore would do something so bizarre.

Thorfinn threw back the drink, not exhibiting a reaction when it burned in his throat. He placed the glass down on the boulder and focused on the bottle, screwing the lid back on before beginning to apply a various range of incantations. It was far from obvious what he was doing, but (eventually) the first student to realise was Hermione.

"What on earth is he doing?" she muttered heatedly, catching the attention of Ron who was standing next to her and watching eagerly.

"What're you going on about?" Ron asked, afraid to take his eyes off of the enclosure in case something amazing occurred while he wasn't watching.

"I think – I think he's trying to create some sort of a bomb…"

"A what?"

"He's making the firewhisky into a bomb, Ron!" Hermione said, much more firmly now that she was certain. Why would Thorfinn think of such an idea? How? And what would he do with it so that he could grab the golden egg?

Thorfinn finished up with his casting rather quickly, admiring his work briefly before cautiously advancing towards the dragon. The crowd had been unable to find their voices, watching in awe as they monitored the Durmstrang champion's every move. Thorfinn stopped when he was about a third of the way across the enclosure; if he moved any closer, the Chinese Fireball would undoubtedly begin to attack. It was still quite a distance, but he knew that he could execute the throw.

Thorfinn raised his arm and there was a collective gasp from the crowd. He blocked the attention out, however, and lobbed the bottle at the dragon with as much strength as he could muster. It hit perfectly. The glass hit a spot not too far from its head and shattered upon impact, resulting in a huge explosion that encompassed both the enclosure and the stands. Panic ensued amongst the spectators, all of which were unable to see little more than a couple of feet in front of them as a result of a freezing, royal blue cloud that hung in the air.

Suddenly, the most horrific of screeches erupted from within the enclosure. The Chinese Fireball had obviously began to respond to the attack, and random bursts of fire were blasting weakly through the cloud. The dragon had clearly been weakened by whatever had been within the magical bomb. Thorfinn remained cool, standing behind a boulder for cover as the dragon continued to cry out. Eventually, enough was enough, and the icy cloud was cleared by a wave of Albus Dumbledore's Elder Wand.

Everyone watching was immediately exposed to the flailing of the Chinese Fireball and some of the handlers looked to be requesting permission to interfere. Karkaroff was having none of that though, and the judges agreed that the task would continue due to the fact that Thorfinn was still unharmed. The same could not be said for the dragon.

The Durmstrang champion abruptly broke out into a sprint, charging directly at the dragon and her eggs. Although visibly struggling, the dragon managed to spy his approaching form and sent a weak blast of fire directly towards him. Thorfinn merely waved the flames away with his wand. The dragon repeated the failed effort as he neared the eggs, becoming beyond frantic and sending more frequent, more potent balls of fire in Thorfinn's direction.

Thorfinn continued to wave them away, doing his best to keep up with the increasing speed. One ball of fire flew by and was much too close for comfort. He felt himself beginning to grow agitated, and the logical thought process was slipping away at a tremendous pace. As the calm diminished, the instinct took over. Thorfinn skidded to a halt and his wand gradually found its way to a position high behind his head, mirroring a stance that only some of the most notorious dark wizards were famous for undertaking.

Dumbledore's eyes widened dramatically behind his half-moon spectacles.

Karkaroff, on the other hand, laughed evilly, applauding as Thorfinn caught an incoming ball of fire and let it sit roughly ten metres high in the sky. The first ball of fire grew to a mix of two, and then that grew to three. There had to have been at least seven separate balls within the single creation when Thorfinn had finally had enough. His breathing was intense, and everyone's focus on the ball of fire gave him the opportunity to cast a shield in front of him with his free hand. As one ball of flames smashed against the wordless shield, Thorfinn let out a loud roar before ramming his wand forward; the huge fire ball exploded in the sky just above the nesting location, making the crowd scream as the dragon collapsed on the floor under the raining ash.

As soon as the dragon dropped, Thorfinn quickly advanced on the nest of eggs. It seemed the dragon had managed to trample on a couple during its panic, but the golden prize remained unharmed. Thorfinn snatched it out of the collection quickly and held it up towards the judges, as if asking if they were satisfied with the performance. And a performance it was indeed… just as Karkaroff had requested.

The crowd erupted, and the judges revealed their scores. Naturally, there had been a ten out of then from Karkaroff. Then again… did the performance truly warrant anything less?


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

With the second task announced to take place on the twenty-fourth of February, Thorfinn was under the illusion that there was plenty of time for him to hide away in his room… and maybe search for Hermione so that he could goad her into another conversation following their previous eventful interaction. She brought a side of him to surface that he hadn't realised was within him and he rather liked it, he supposed.

Unfortunately for Thorfinn, being Durmstrang's champion meant that mindless relaxation was still absent from the table. There was an unsolved clue, after all, which sat beside his record player while emitting a slight force of foreboding. The first time Thorfinn had opened it had been in Karkaroff's office. The unforgivable screeches had ricocheted throughout the entire ship, and Karkaroff had angrily fixed the clasp back in place. Both had scowled in annoyance before Thorfinn took the egg back to his room; Karkaroff had said he was going to look into the issue, which immediately implied to Thorfinn that his headmaster was going to find a way to cheat yet again.

Thorfinn didn't care much about the cheating. He still loathed that he was a champion for the Tournament, so preserving the apparent integrity of the event did not matter to him one bit. The glory of winning the whole thing wasn't his priority either, though Thorfinn was aware that Karkaroff would be beyond furious if it was not broadcasted that the controversial Durmstrang Institute was better than Dumbledore's Hogwarts.

Eternal glory was useless to Thorfinn and so were the galleons the winner would receive. A few years prior, he likely would not have sung the same tune about the money, but finally being of age in the wizarding world meant that Thorfinn finally had unprecedented access to the Rowle family fortune that was buried deep within Gringotts. He had not had time to formally visit the vault and have a detailed look at everything the Rowle line had to offer him, but the bank had graciously owled him an extensive list that made note of every single registered possession. From rags to riches, he believed was the saying.

And therefore survival was the only driving force behind the Durmstrang champion, who spent many hours hidden away with a record playing and a drink in his hand, as he stared deeply at the unwavering golden egg. Each detail was etched starkly into every corner of Thorfinn's mind by the beginning of December, and he was no closer to the clue than he had been when he and Karkaroff had first examined the egg. On the bright side, such a bizarre clue was likely to trouble more than just him. Thorfinn doubted that the others had been able to work out the second task from the item… hopefully none of them would find the answer, making the event a level playing field like it should have been the last time.

After a formal dark arts lesson alongside his peers on the ship and some training with Karkaroff that – much to Thorfinn's disdain – resulted in him missing the opportunity for a full evening meal, he found himself back in the private space staring at the egg once more. He had perched himself on the edge of his bed, watching the object thoughtfully as he picked at the pathetic portion of chicken and rice that had been offered to him. It certainly was not the most thrilling Friday night, and Thorfinn was quickly finding that the egg being in his room was disrupting the space that he was supposed to experience nothing but calm in.

Eventually, Thorfinn found that he had had enough. He dropped the empty plate on the floor, snatched up his warmest black winter coat, and stormed off of the ship with absolutely no intention of going anywhere specific. The fresh air was a good call, but the growing intensity of the winter sleet forced him to seek shelter under the roofs of Hogwarts. Thankfully, the poor weather meant that the grounds were beyond quiet; a perfect fit for a young man who enjoyed his own company more than anything.

After roaming the grounds for a while in order to settle his previous irritation, Thorfinn found himself shuffling through the entrance hall. Perhaps a meeting with Peeves would clear his mind, as it had been constantly clouded with thoughts about the frustrating egg (and more recently about the fact that he was still incredibly hungry after barely any dinner). While it would have been nice for the poltergeist to pop up conveniently upon his arrival, Thorfinn knew that the wish was too good to be true. Unbeknownst to him, Peeves was currently terrorising Mrs Norris just outside of the history of magic classroom. A noble cause…

Thorfinn quickly settled on the thought of going to the library. It would be undoubtedly quieter than usual on a Friday night, as the conclusion of the school week often resulted in studies being momentarily neglected. The library's loss was definitely his gain, as it was an opportunity for Thorfinn to scout the security around the restricted section. With a plan in place, he set off to the library, only to be quickly intercepted by the body of a girl who had rapidly flung herself round a nearby corner without considering that there may have been someone on the other side.

She smashed directly into Thorfinn but he didn't even stagger. Instead, he quickly released the arms that he had caught instinctively and opened his mouth to say something rather rude. But then the girl stepped back, and his jaw snapped to a close when he realised that it was Hermione, once again still in her uniform even though it was very much after hours.

"Thorfinn," she said breathlessly in surprise, taking a small step back so that she didn't have to bend her neck so much to look at him, "I'm terribly sorry about running into you-"

"It's fine," he cut in, although if it were any other Hogwarts student it would not have been fine in the slightest, "no worries – just glad that I could catch you."

"Are you off to the library?" Hermione asked, noting the direction he had been moving in.

"I was." Thorfinn nodded. "You?"

"The kitchens, actually."

"The kitchens?" He repeated eagerly, feeling his face light up at the thought. It was clear that Hermione noticed his change in demeanour also, as her brow twitched and her warm eyes flashed with intrigue.

"Yes," she said, "there's an entrance not many people know about."

"Would you take me with you?" Thorfinn asked.

"I don't know if that would be breaking the rules…"

"Please, Hermione," he implored, beginning to look slightly desperate, "take me with you… I'm honestly starving. Karkaroff had me working late and I barely had any dinner, and now I'm ridiculously hungry and my mood is deteriorating and… please just let me come with you, I _swear_ _down_ I'll get on my knees if I have to-"

"Oh, come on then!" Hermione sighed, quickly giving in to the begging that was certainly out of character. The champion during the first task and the young man she was face to face with now were almost like two entirely different people. She supposed it was because he didn't have to put up such an intense façade… and because he was hungry. People often change when they're famished. "The kitchens are just down here," she told him, gesturing for him to follow her steps.

They were behind the painting soon enough and it was quieter than Thorfinn had anticipated. He supposed many of the house elves had cleared off to do other jobs after serving the evening meal, leaving just a few to bustle around and make sure that the kitchen was ready to serve breakfast the next morning. One of the house elves – wearing an incredibly questionable outfit that had Thorfinn scratching his head – noticed their presence immediately and swiftly moved to greet them.

"Miss Hermione," screeched Dobby, "Dobby is happy to see you again, miss." As he said this, Winky began to sniffle in the far corner of the kitchen.

"It's nice to see you too, Dobby." Hermione replied. "This is Thorfinn Rowle, a friend of mine, and he was wondering if there was any food left over from the evening meal…" Thorfinn looked at her with wide, electric eyes. She had referred to him as a friend… it was probably a bit soon for such a distinction, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a connection to anyone. He was delighted to be considered a friend… for the time being, that is. Thorfinn wouldn't lie to himself and deny the fact that he wanted something more. Hopefully it would come in time; patience was a virtue, apparently.

"Dobby will find something, sir," the elf chirped, waddling away from the kitchen's entrance, "you're a big man, sir – Dobby will find suitable portion… did Miss Hermione come for a craving also?"

"Oh, no thank you-"

"Would Miss Hermione prefer some tea, then?"

"Actually, Dobby," said Hermione, with a politeness that Thorfinn had never once seen directed towards house elves, "a hot chocolate would be wonderful, if that's alright?" Dobby nodded, quickly moving to prepare the requests. Hermione moved over to one of the small, wooden tables and Thorfinn followed hesitantly; it was an entirely new place, and he needed to take time to absorb the unfamiliar surroundings.

"You were very… nice to the elf." Thorfinn commented, sitting across from Hermione as large cups of hot chocolate magically appeared in front of both of them. He hadn't had one in a very long time, and certainly was not going to complain about receiving one.

"Well, it's only right to treat them humanely." Hermione stated resolutely. "The way that house elves are generally treated is terrible, honestly." Thorfinn frowned in thought while Dobby levitated two plates across the kitchen, dropping them softly in front of him. One plate held a relatively small piece of battered haddock surrounded by a gigantic pile of salted chips; the other plate appeared to be a range of leftover desserts from the evening, which included a luxurious slice of victoria sponge cake and a slab of chocolate brownie surrounded by excessive scoops of vanilla ice cream.

"Dobby!" Thorfinn called out, waving over the free elf. Hermione tensed up, utterly in the dark about his opinion on house elves as a pureblood wizard. She just hoped that he wouldn't ridicule Dobby or speak down to him too harshly; it would taint the way in which she viewed him tremendously if he were to do so.

"Is everything OK, Mr Rowle, sir?" Dobby asked. The use of his surname made Thorfinn curious, and he correctly assumed that the elf was aware of the pureblood family title.

"Yeah, definitely," grinned Thorfinn, holding out a closed fist in Dobby's direction, "just wanted to say you'd done a good job, pal." Dobby hesitated briefly, his large eyes bouncing between the first and Thorfinn's encouraging expression. Slowly, Dobby rose his arm and closed his tiny hand, gradually moving it forward so that it touched the much larger fist very slightly. Thorfinn let the attempt at a fist bump hold for a few seconds before dropping his arm and moving to grab the utensils. Dobby looked between Thorfinn and Hermione in wonder… the latter of the two had been carefully sipping her hot chocolate, trying to conceal her surprise in response to the abnormal display.

"Dobby is happy to have pleased Mr Rowle," the elf said happily, "Dobby likes Mr Rowle with Miss Hermione…" Thorfinn choked on a piece of fish and immediately reached for his drink; Hermione felt the hot chocolate go down the wrong way and cleared her throat repeatedly. "Well, Dobby will leave you alone now. Let Dobby know if anything else is needed – like to work for my galleon and serve nice friends of Harry Potter."

"It was very nice of you to compliment Dobby." Hermione said once they had both righted themselves. Thorfinn shrugged as he forced down a couple of chips, not trusting himself to speak until his mouth was empty.

"Thought you'd appreciate it." He muttered. "I've never really thought much about house elves, personally. Dobby comes across well though." Hermione was incredibly eager to ask him to join S.P.E.W, but for some reason she kept stopping herself from doing so. As hard as it was for her to admit, the Gryffindor within her was cowering… all because she somewhat cared about what he thought. She didn't want to embarrass herself if he thought it was ridiculous, even though most people saw it that way and she certainly had not let their opinions hinder her quest. Thorfinn was just a boy, really… but he was more than that. Hermione just knew.

"Didn't you ever notice them while you were growing up?" Hermione asked curiously, making Thorfinn tense drastically at the implication.

"Right…" Thorfinn trailed off, finishing with the last of his chips. "I'm going to give you a very brief summary of my life… which I trust that you will not share with anyone."

"I won't tell," she promised.

"I'm being serious, Hermione," he continued, "if any of this slips out to even Potter…"

"You have my word." Hermione confirmed, cheekily snatching his spoon away and stealing a chunk of ice cream for herself. "I promise." Thorfinn watched her with an unwavering admiration, unconsciously focusing in on the way her lips had encompassed the vanilla dessert. Was it weird that he was slightly excited to get the spoon back for himself? Yes, probably, but he could not care less.

"Alright so, I am a pureblood – that's common knowledge," he started, taking a brief pause when she handed back the spoon, "I was born into the wizarding world, but my parents were followers of the Dark Lord, you see. I've been told they were both marked, and everything, which led to an Auror raid when I was a few months old..." Hermione gasped, seemingly knowing what he was going to reveal next. She placed her mug on the table and reached across, taking Thorfinn's free hand between her own and holding it supportively.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "for you… and also just presuming, you know…"

"So they fought and got killed, basically," Thorfinn continued emotionlessly, taking a break to eat some of his cake, "but that didn't matter an awful lot, since I wasn't with them at the time of the raid. I think they'd anticipated something, because apparently I was in the care of their dear friends… the Lestranges – I'm sure you'll have heard of them." Hermione nodded, aware that they were all locked away in Azkaban for crimes such as torturing the Longbottoms to a point of no return. "They kept me for a bit, managed to keep me alive at least. Then they all got caught by Aurors too… but here's the scandalous reveal, are you ready?"

"Is being temporarily raised by the Lestranges not the big reveal?"

"Not at all," he let out, with a bitterness in his tone that Hermione quickly caught onto, "when the Aurors found me with the Lestranges, I should have been taken to the Ministry, for deliberation of custody and those obvious things. They didn't do that, though. Instead those slimy bastards dropped me in the muggle world… am I right to presume you're not from a pureblood family?"

"I'm not." Hermione replied shortly. "That's not a problem for you, is it?"

"Just makes it easier to explain if you aren't." Thorfinn stated, neglecting the question for the time being. "Are you familiar with the foster care system?"

"I've heard stories…" she answered, "both good and bad."

"Look, I won't go into detail with you – especially not now – but just understand that I had a very, very shit time in their system. Don't think there was ever one purely good muggle throughout my whole time trapped in that world. The kids were vile little cretins, the adults were pathetic scum. I suffered because of those fucking Aurors, and it felt like forever before Karkaroff found me. He took me to Durmstrang a few months before my eleventh birthday and I haven't gone far from there since. This is actually my first time back in Britain and I didn't want to come – Karkaroff forced me, and now I'm in a ridiculous Tournament. Great life for a supposedly superior pureblood..."

"Was… was the muggle world really that bad for you?" Hermione asked, her tone a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

"Every second of it." Thorfinn said absolutely. "I'd rather lock myself away for the rest of my life than go back into that world… fucking muggles, they'd run the other way if they could see me now."

"Um, Thorfinn," she forced out, making him look up from the almost empty plate of desserts cautiously, "you should know that I grew up in the muggle world too, before Hogwarts. I can tell that you're firm in your beliefs because of your experience, and I don't blame you for that at all… but both of my parents are muggles-"

"You're muggleborn?" He blurted out in surprise, dropping his spoon down onto the empty plate. A loud clatter rang throughout the dormant kitchen. Hermione nodded hesitantly, and he suddenly realised that her hands were still wrapped around his. It was still pleasant – it was still warm – and the feel hadn't suddenly altered because her lineage was not notoriously magical…

"I am." Hermione confirmed, voice only barely above a whisper. "I'm surprised you haven't heard, really. A lot of the Slytherins like to point it out because I'm a target due to being close to Harry and being outspoken in lessons… oh, and that ghastly Rita Skeeter mentioned it in her article, too."

"I don't listen to any of that," explained Thorfinn, "in fact I don't think I would have realised if you didn't tell me. I wasn't familiar with your surname, so I just presumed you were halfblood based on the intricacy of your magic and your obvious intelligence…"

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint." Hermione said stiffly, watching him warily as she went to release her grip on his hand. All she could think of was Draco Malfoy's comment about not wanting a mudblood getting slime on him…

Thorfinn frowned at the action and daringly took one of her hands back into one of his own. She recoiled in shock, watching with uncertainty as he placed a light, confident kiss to the back of her petite hand.

"You're a witch. Nothing else matters to me."

"So if I was a muggle you wouldn't give me the time of day?" Hermione retorted. "That hardly instils me with confidence, honestly."

"If you were a muggle, Hermione," he said resolutely, "we wouldn't have met."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because you have this absolutely gorgeous accent that just screams southern England to me… and then there's me, a wizard trapped in muggle Manchester. I highly doubt we would have crossed paths."

"I suppose you're right." Hermione laughed softly. "Manchester though… I should have known with how you sometimes speak! How could I have been so blind?"

"Durmstrang altered the accent quite a bit," he explained, "talking with you just brings the British back out of me, clearly. I'm not sure how I feel about the return of it, but I like hearing your voice too much to not engage you in conversation."

"Oh, well, thank you…" she trailed off, "are you sure that me being muggleborn isn't a problem for you, though?"

"You're the first muggleborn I've met." Thorfinn admitted bluntly. "I went from being in the muggle world to being at Durmstrang, and Karkaroff only allows acceptance of purebloods and halfbloods. So I've done one extreme to the other, I guess, but never had the chance to come across a muggleborn. I'm aware of the attitude that I'm expected to have towards people with your blood status… I'm not ignorant. But for me, you're the only experience I can base my opinion of muggleborns on, and I happen to think that both you and your magic are phenomenal. There's no actual reason for me to see you as inferior to me, but perhaps my view is just influenced by what I've experienced in life-"

"It's a rather progressive view, Thorfinn, and you shouldn't doubt it if that's what you believe. People will judge you, though, if you're vocal with your beliefs…"

"With the shit I've put up with, there's nothing I can't handle at this point," he started, "you don't need to worry about me – I'm a big boy… according to your roommate, at least." Hermione felt her cheeks burn as the quiescent subject rose to prominence once more.

"Don't you dare start with that again!"

"I've already begun. Now, have they said anything else since our last meeting? I'm just dying to know…"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

December had progressed rather uneventfully in comparison to the previous months. The morning that Thorfinn had made a note of that fact, however, was followed by Karkaroff pulling aside after lunch had come to an end. Initially, Thorfinn had hoped that the private discussion would reveal the secret about the golden egg. But, as Karkaroff came to a pause and leant against the ship's wooden railing with a stern expression, he knew that the conversation was not set to go in the way that he wished.

"Come," said Karkaroff, holding out his hand to gesture to the empty space beside him, "stand with me." Thorfinn followed the calm order, resting his forearms on the railing as both he and his headmaster looked up at the mighty castle of Hogwarts from below.

"I've got a feeling that this is not about the egg, sir."

"Your feeling is correct." Karkaroff confirmed. "And I am sure that you will not appreciate the news that I have for you, son."

"I'm listening…"

"I've just received news from the castle that there is to be an announcement tomorrow, regarding a Christmas Day Yule Ball." Thorfinn froze. A social event? Merlin, please no… "Because of your history and… reputation at the Institute… I thought it best to notify you immediately, so that you have an advantage over every other boy in that castle. The more time you have, the better. The champions opening the Yule Ball with a dance is a tradition, which means you cannot attend without a witch on your arm-"

"That sounds like a colossal waste of time," snapped Thorfinn, "I'm not going – I'd rather stay in my room for the night – Viktor can take my place."

"You _are_ going." Karkaroff demanded, snarling. "Because I will not have you embarrass me."

"I'll embarrass you more if I go-"

"That castle up there," stated Karkaroff, pointing sternly towards Hogwarts, "is full of witches for you to take, and you can have whichever one you deem adequate."

"I won't attend."

"You will attend, even if I have curse you and drag you to that hall. And while you do not have a choice in that matter, you have the freedom to request the company of whichever witch you want. But I am warning you now, Thorfinn… if you do not take advantage of this freedom I am offering you, I will ensure that a date is found for you and you will have to attend the Yule Ball with said date – regardless of whether or not you can tolerate her presence."

"There is only one witch I could tolerate taking…" Thorfinn mumbled, so deep in thought that he did not notice the wooden railing of the ship splintering under his irate grip. It apparently did not matter that he loathed the thought of even having to show his face at the Yule Ball, because he would end up there one way or another due to Karkaroff's insistence.

"Then I suggest you ask her today," said Karkaroff deviously.

"But if she refuses to go with me, I will not go at all."

"If she says no, boy, you will ask her until she says yes." The Durmstrang headmaster retorted, stepping back from the railing. "Because if you cannot persuade her to go with you, I will make sure that one of our girls fills in. And that would be rather awkward for you, wouldn't it? Considering you have what can hardly be referred to as a history with over half of them…"

Thorfinn said nothing, merely glared up at Hogwarts furiously. He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there after Karkaroff had snaked off back inside, but it was long enough for him to notice that the light of the day was beginning to fade. That was not an indication that it was late in the evening, however, as December in Britain often possessed a lot of days that were shrouded in pitch black by roughly three/four o'clock.

Time alone in the cold had given Thorfinn a long opportunity to think things over and come to terms with Karkaroff's ultimatum. He knew that the only witch that he would be content with taking was Hermione Granger, and that the company of anyone else would be an immense annoyance. The only issue was asking her… and, well, finding her to do so. He hoped that he could simply bump into her again while she was rushing around one evening, resulting in a quick conversation and a confirmation. There was a part of Thorfinn that knew fate would not be so kind… but a man could dream, he supposed.

After another moment of contemplation, Thorfinn shuffled back towards his room. He found himself sullenly mulling over what coat to wear over his black slacks and matching shirt, while also trying to choose between typical black loafers and tan brogues. And then… he wondered why he was getting so inside his head. Durmstrang girls had pulled him into their beds for much less, and he suspected that Hermione was far from the superficial type. Even if she wasn't… a small, noticeable effort would be appreciated, he was sure. Thorfinn chortled and settled on the tan shoes, instinctively reaching for the black winter coat. That would be fine. Hopefully.

Karkaroff's beady eyes watched sharply as Thorfinn departed the ship shortly before dinner, and his mouth (though slightly obscured by facial hair) twisted into a precarious smirk. It was obvious he was satisfied… but it was a shame that he had not bothered to get details about the witch and her background. The mistake would be none other than his own loss and would undoubtedly be Thorfinn's gain.

Once he had made it to the castle, Thorfinn stalked around the entrance of the Great Hall. Hermione was noticeably absent from the start of the evening meal, so he was hoping to catch her on her way in. Unfortunately, she did not appear during the time in which the Great Hall was the busiest. In fact, Thorfinn had no idea how long he'd been lingering around the entryway by the time large groups began to leave the hall.

He sighed, clearly drained by the ordeal. Why would Hermione deliberately miss an evening meal? Thorfinn kicked at the dry flooring with the balls of his feet, careful not to scuff the toes of his nice shoes. Even though he was apparently filthy rich now, old habits die hard… and he didn't wish to ruin one of his only pairs of shoes.

As more and more students cleared out of the Great Hall, Thorfinn began to feel an urge within that told him to retreat back to the ship. Perhaps that was not a bad idea for him, as it would give him an opportunity to regroup before-

Hermione bolted past him at the speed of light, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. She flung herself down onto the quiet bench, rushing to pile a mix of whatever was left of the meal onto an empty plate. Thorfinn watched from afar, observing her surroundings in order to make a judgement… could now be the time to act?

The Gryffindor table was near to empty, as were the Hufflepuff and Slytherin areas. There were a few Ravenclaws still lingering, but most of them looked to be rather young; Thorfinn noted that Luna Lovegood was amongst the older Ravenclaw students, enjoying her own company and some delightful pudding. He double checked the Slytherin table to make sure that none of the obvious supremacists were discreetly hanging around, and then his eyes drifted towards the staff table.

Just his luck… Professor McGonagall was seated with a goblet in her right hand, her eyes glued to Thorfinn as they shimmered with caution. He made a decision not to let this deter him, however, and rashly smirked at the Hogwarts professor before strolling towards the Gryffindor table. When he sat down on the bench beside Hermione she jumped out of her skin at the sudden movement; then she turned to see who had been the culprit, and all scolding words magically died before passing her lips. Because Thorfinn was sat facing her with his legs on either side of the bench, smirking at her as he snatched a fairy cake off of a nearby stand and began picking at the icing.

"Evening, Hermione," he said with unwavering confidence, licking at his bottom lip to clear it of the chocolate frosting.

"I – I wouldn't have expected to see you here, of all places." Hermione stuttered in surprise, slowing down the pace at which she was consuming some mashed potatoes.

"Well I needed to see you," he shrugged, "and it couldn't wait so… here I am, I suppose. That McGonagall doesn't seem too happy about it though, like, she's been glaring at me since I stepped foot in the hall." Hermione twisted round to view the staff table and noticed that the head of Gryffindor was watching them intently. She guessed that Professor McGonagall was merely offering a protective eye, since Hermione was one of her most valued students.

"What could possibly be so urgent? I mean, you usually just seem content us bumping into one another… though the last time that was rather literal…"

"They're announcing a Yule Ball tomorrow, apparently." Thorfinn answered bluntly. "And it's going to be linked to the Tournament, you see, which means I've got no way of getting out of going. So if I have to go, I thought why not at least ask the only witch that I think I could tolerate spending the evening with… before someone else cracks on and steals her away after the formal announcement is made tomorrow. That witch just so happens to be you, Hermione, and I honestly don't know what I'd do if you decided to say no."

"A Yule Ball?" Hermione asked somewhat breathlessly. "You… you'd like me to go with you? Out of everyone in this castle, you'd want to go with me?"

"Like I said, Hermione, I wouldn't want to go with anyone else. I'd be honoured if you were to be my partner for the evening…"

"Oh, of course I'll go with you!" She said, having developed an enthusiasm when the shock had worn away. Thorfinn was caught off-guard when she flung her arms over his broad shoulders for a brief moment, in what could have only been described as a very quick hug. He chanced a glance across at McGonagall and witnessed a deepening frown, revelling in the irritation that the hug inflicted.

"You've got no idea how relieved I am that you've said yes." Thorfinn told her, reaching for another cake. "I starved for this, you know."

"Well, that was awfully thoughtful of you," scoffed Hermione, shaking her head playfully as she turned back to her own meal, "but now I'm wondering about how you asked me… and why I didn't receive a grander gesture…"

"You – you wanted a – what?"

"Oh calm down, Thorfinn," she laughed, "I was just joking with you, honestly!"

"I was gonna say…" Thorfinn grumbled out as doubts began to quickly manifest. "I put some nice shoes on for this and everything."

"And for that I'm very flattered-"

"Look, if you actually want a gesture I'll do it," he rushed, unaware that the sarcastic tone was simply a reflection of her amusement, "even though I don't have an owl, I'll find a way to get hundreds of flowers delivered to you by breakfast tomorrow. Or I could wait for a day when the weather is nice and walk you down to the lake, and get on one knee and beg that you be my date. That's the best I could do for you, I think… I've never really done this before, so my priority was just to make sure that I was the first person to ask you-"

"Thorfinn!" Hermione cut in. "I was just pulling your leg – this is fine, really – I like that you did it privately."

"Oh, right." He mumbled, slightly embarrassed as he reached for a third cake.

"Do you think we could keep it quiet until the Yule Ball? I'd quite like to surprise everyone…"

"Whatever you want," Thorfinn stated with a shrug, hearing the cracking sound in his mind once more, "I'll do whatever you want to make it special for you."

"Swear down?" Hermione smirked.

"Absolutely. I swear down."

* * *

Thorfinn was grateful that a few dance classes were obligatory for first year students at the Durmstrang Institute. He would in no way categorise himself as a good, traditional dancer, but the lesson in high (wizarding) society etiquette meant that he did not have to lose sleep over the looming Yule Ball. Being able to avoid that one potential embarrassment, Thorfinn intensified his physical training; since arriving at Hogwarts and spending time with Hermione, his usual diet had been drastically slipping and he wanted to make sure that he looked his best while in front of a multitude of people with an enticing witch on his arm.

Hermione had noticed him one day, running around the Black Lake. While Viktor Krum often had groups of giggling school girls charging after him while he jogged, she was pleased to note that Thorfinn was not given the same obsessive attention. She was not ignorant to the fact that everyone in the castle was always aware of the presence of Thorfinn Rowle, but somehow a mix of his size and aura managed to encourage others to keep their distance. Perhaps if Hermione had not started to get to know him in the way that she did, she may have also (bravely) kept her distance from the Durmstrang champion.

But while many younger students were convinced that Thorfinn's presence was intimidating, Hermione thought the opposite. When it was just the two of them he was much more open, however that opportunity for privacy did not arise often. And so she grasped the prospect of time together with an enthusiastic grip, making her way down the dewy slopes carefully so that she did not slip.

Thorfinn didn't notice her until he had completed another of his laps, but skidded to a stop close to Hermione when he realised that she had been patiently waiting. No one – ever – interrupted his physical exercise, but Thorfinn could not find it within his broad chest to send her away. He took a few moments to catch his breath, noting that it was cold enough for a white, smoky mist to temporarily overtake the air in front of him. Unable to produce words, Thorfinn simply looked at her.

Hermione, for once, was wearing her own clothes rather than the uniform he often found her in. She'd picked out a casual winter combination, which consisted of a grey pea coat, dark navy jeans, and a Gryffindor scarf that was wrapped up to her chin. There was nothing special about it, but Thorfinn found it fascinating. Hermione looked nicer in her own clothes, and he wondered what she would do for the Yule Ball. In comparison to her, he felt rather insignificant; a dirty, crimson, long-sleeved t-shirt, and black joggers with worn out trainers… very presentable…

"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you-"

"No, not at all," lied Thorfinn, his voice slightly hoarse as a result of the cold and exertion, "I was almost finished, anyway. Is everything alright? You look a little agitated and I'm practically positive that I haven't done anything to, you know…"

"Oh, no, you haven't done anything at all!" Hermione said quickly. "I just… suppose I haven't gotten over something the boys were going on about last night, but I don't think it would be fair to bore you with that rubbish."

"Nothing you speak about is rubbish," he scoffed, "so, I think we should go and grab a warm drink in the kitchens, then you can tell me whatever you're unsettled about while I see if Dobby'll sort me out with some chicken and veg, or something."

"Chicken and veg?" She repeated as he gestured for her to lead the way.

"Yeah," Thorfinn shrugged, "got to make sure I'm not a fat shit for the ball."

"You're fine, honestly." Hermione muttered, falling into silence as they continued up towards the castle.

After a quiet walk, Thorfinn and Hermione were soon hidden away in the kitchens of Hogwarts once more. There were a few more elves than the last time as lunch was being prepared, but there was still a quieter corner away from the hustle that the two quickly made their own. Dobby had popped over with hot chocolates for the both of them, before moving away with the promise of some food for Thorfinn. The Durmstrang champion waited after that, knowing that Hermione would tell her story when she was ready.

"Are you _sure_ you want to hear it?" Hermione asked. "It's the smallest of things…"

"The suspense is killing me," he deadpanned.

"Well," she huffed, gearing up for the rant that Thorfinn had been waiting for, "last night Ron – he's best friends with Harry and I, everyone sees us as a three – made an absolutely ridiculous comment and it made my blood boil. It was honestly about the stupidest thing! So I pulled him up on it and, you know, tried to encourage him to at least see that his remark was a bit out of order, but he just kept digging the hole deeper-"

"Hang on," Thorfinn cut in calmly, "what was it that was said?"

"He and Harry haven't got dates for the Yule Ball yet. Harry's been asked a few times but turned the girls down, and Ron just seems to not have bothered making an effort. Obviously, though, Christmas is quite soon and they need to get a move on… but Ron decided that he only needed to hurry up because he didn't want to get stuck with a… a _troll_, he said. Don't you think that's rather rude?"

"A bit, yeah." Thorfinn mumbled distractedly, tucking into the grilled chicken and mixed vegetables that had suddenly popped up in front of him.

"And even after that comment, he kept going!" Hermione continued furiously. "_I'd rather go alone than with Eloise Midgen_, he said," she even went as far as to mock Ron's voice, "and I thought it was horrid of him. Honestly, I think she's really nice and deserves a lovely date to the ball – she's struggled with bad acne over the past few years and that isn't even her fault! But because of that, she's got boys like Ron being unkind about her appearance and I don't think that's fair at all…"

"Just sounds like Ron was showing off for the lads, really." Thorfinn admitted, covering his mouth with his fist while he finished chewing on a relatively large piece of broccoli. "It's not nice but… try not to take it personally, alright? If that girl is as cool as you think she is, then it's him that's missing out."

"Try not to take it personally?" Hermione scoffed. "So, if you were sat with the 'lads' and they said the same thing about me as they did about girls like Eloise…?"

Well shit. Reverse. Reverse. Back track. Do it now!

"I'd be furious. I see your point." She looked victorious, and Thorfinn presumed that he had managed to come out with something that she had been wishing to hear. "You know I don't care for that kind of chat though… and I don't really associate myself with many people, anyway."

"Don't you have some friends back at Durmstrang?"

"Acquaintances," he corrected with a shrug, "you're my first friend in years, and I emphasise that that is a choice. A lot of people agitate me… some are so annoying that my magic flares up and it results in people fixing things… I've found it's best for me to keep to myself. But then… we get along quite well, and seem to understand each other quite a bit… so you're an anomaly, I guess you'd say."

"Is that why you asked me to the Yule Ball?" Hermione mused. "Because you don't like anybody else?"

"Not with the same sincerity, no."

"That's the only reason why you asked me?"

"Well," he said, "I would say that another reason is because I think we'd look good together since you're very pretty… but now that I know how you feel about prioritisation of aesthetics, I'll be keeping that one to myself."

"You really think that about me?" Hermione asked, suddenly taking a long drink of her hot chocolate in order to cover her flaming face.

"Course I do," he responded bluntly, "wouldn't have said it otherwise."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Hermione!" Ginny Weasley yelled ferociously, barging into the fourth year girls' dormitory. "Hermione Granger, you open those curtains right now!" The redhead demanded, ignoring the incredulous looks she was receiving from both Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Fay Dunbar (a girl with short brown hair and blue eyes) appeared incredibly startled by the sudden outburst, dropping her bag of gobstones which resulted in them spilling all over her duvet.

"What, Ginny?" Hermione asked sharply, flinging open the curtains nearest to the door. She had been tucked away reading a passage from her transfiguration textbook when Ginny had barrelled in, utterly ruining her time to herself.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ginny demanded, throwing herself into a seated position on the end of Hermione's bed. "I mean, I get why you haven't told the boys… but me, Hermione? I can't believe you've not mentioned it-"

"Mentioned what?" Hermione sighed.

"That you've already got a date to the Yule Ball!" Multiple gasps erupted throughout the room, making Hermione roll her eyes.

"No way!" shrieked Lavender, throwing aside her copy of Witch Weekly Magazine.

"Who is it?" demanded Parvati, as Hermione sent Ginny an accusatory glare.

"It's probably Weasley or Potter," Fay reasoned, still clearing away her gobstones, "you've been spending an awful lot of time with Potter this year, so…"

"It's not them," stated Ginny, "and it's not Neville either, because he asked me after he asked you."

"Oh, really?" Hermione spoke up finally, looking incredibly happy for Ginny. "That's wonderful, Gin. I know you were worried about not being able to go – I'm so glad that he asked you-"

"Stop talking about me now," Ginny cut in quickly, "I don't matter at the moment. It's killing me not knowing who your date is, 'Mione!"

"We've agreed to keep it a surprise," said Hermione, coyly. All of the girls glared at her for being secretive but they should have known better. She never took part in dormitory gossip, even though this time was slightly different due to the fact that it was centred on her.

"Please!" Ginny groaned, dramatically falling back on the bed. Hermione looked down at the curious, pleading eyes. Not telling anyone was honestly eating away at her; it was as if the secret was a potion brewing within her, gradually boiling up to a point of an explosion as severe as Seamus' concoctions. She glanced around at the other inquisitive faces in the room before suddenly waving her wand and closing all of the curtains. Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Hermione held up a hand before casting a strong silencing charm around them.

"You have to promise that you won't tell a soul," she demanded.

"Oh, yeah," Ginny answered quickly, "I promise I won't tell anyone!" Hermione sighed, uncrossing her legs in an attempt to relax. It wasn't that she didn't trust Ginny, the tension was more down to the fact that what she and Thorfinn shared would no longer be just theirs. After the Yule Ball everyone would know anyway, so she wasn't sure what was making her hesitant about the first reveal. It's just Ginny… it'll be fine…

"Thorfinn Rowle." Hermione said finally. "My date for the Yule Ball is Thorfinn Rowle."

Ginny's brown eyes widened further than Hermione thought was humanly possible. Her friend froze, sprawled across the bed as she gaped as if she were a fish out of water. A small part of Hermione wondered if Ginny had gone into some form of shock, however she could not bring herself to move in order to give her a nudge. But then suddenly, a squeak erupted from Ginny's throat and laughter swiftly followed. Hermione swallowed back the lump building in her throat, aware that the shock had evolved into a slightly offensive denial.

"You're having a laugh, aren't you?" Ginny said. "Seriously, Hermione, who asked you?"

"Thorfinn asked me. I was being serious." The mirth in Ginny's gaze disappeared as quickly as it had emerged. "We've had a few conversations… and I couldn't find a reason to say no to him."

"You're… you're not joking." The redhead muttered, the words barely passing her lips. "How the bloody hell did you manage that? He's the Durmstrang champion, he's seventeen, he's ridiculously large for a magical bloke, and as fit as he is he's also a bit scary-"

"Oh," scoffed Hermione, "he isn't scary at all, honestly."

"I can't believe you're going with him! Ron's going to be foaming at the mouth when he sees the two of you together-"

"I'm sorry?"

"Which dress is it that you're wearing for the ball?" Ginny continued, ignoring Hermione's query. As Ron's sister, Ginny knew how jealous he would inevitably become when he saw Hermione with one of the most pined after dates. Girls from fourth year to seventh year had been discreetly hoping that they would be the lucky candidate, but apparently the powerful Durmstrang champion was already spoken for. And his date was the one and only Hermione bloody Granger! Ginny was unbelievably surprised by the news, but she was still very much pleased for her friend. Hermione deserved to feel like a queen at the Yule Ball, and Ginny knew deep down that her brother had not matured enough to be the one to have the honours.

"Well," started Hermione, "I brought a nice pink one with me at the start of the year…"

"But?"

"I've been doing a bit of browsing, I suppose you could say, and I saw this absolutely stunning periwinkle blue one."

"Get an owl sent off with an order before it's too late, then!" Ginny encouraged strongly. "I'm sure he'll adore you in whichever robes you choose, but if you really like the blue one, then I think you should go for it."

"It's lovely, honestly Gin," mumbled Hermione, "it's just also rather expensive…"

"How bad?"

"If it order it, that's most of my money for the year gone," she admitted, "which means I won't be able to make the most of Hogsmeade, or anything like that."

"Just spend your time with Rowle." Ginny suggested, feeling as if she was stating the obvious to her intellectual friend. "Spending time with him won't cost you a thing, I don't think, and you can order the blue dress and make all the blokes faint when you go to the ball. Win-win."

"I can't believe I've let you talk me into this!" Hermione laughed, pushing back the curtains and removing the charms from around her bed in order to grab some spare parchment and a quill.

"What are friends for?" Ginny retorted with a smirk, relishing in the dirty looks that she was receiving from the other girls. Hermione would look tremendous for the Yule Ball, and she would be the one to make sure of it.

* * *

Thorfinn's next opportunity to spend time with Hermione was three days before the Yule Ball. She'd managed to find him out in the midst of the snowy grounds, miraculously deadlifting gigantic logs in his usual workout attire. The only difference in his outfit was the shoes, as he had replaced them with boots that were not drowned by the dense snow. Thorfinn had spotted her long before she had reached him, flinging the log in his grip to the ground before wiping his hands on the front of his t-shirt.

By the time Hermione had arrived, Thorfinn had conjured up a black blanket with a warming charm and placed it under a nearby tree. Hermione beamed at the gesture, taking a seat and serenely opening a book to read while he finished his routine for the day. She had always been an incredibly avid reader, often becoming lost in texts in mere moments. Nothing trivial would ever have the ability to distract the one and only Hermione Granger from her reading…

So why on earth was the image of Thorfinn Rowle lifting a log drawing her gaze every other second?

She felt like Lavender Brown all of a sudden, and huffed before forcing her eyes to consume the words printed on the page. Hermione had never been one to obsess over boys, nor ogle any that passed her in the corridors. But suddenly Thorfinn had been thrown roughly into the equation and the way that the material of his shirt tightened around his shoulders and biceps during each lift was impossible to ignore. She could feel the heat rising to her face as she continued to think about it; at least the embarrassing colour could be blamed on the icy December weather.

Eventually, Thorfinn finished with his lifting. Hermione had gotten through a grand total of four pages… even though she could usually do multiple chapters in the same amount of time. She brought her knees up to make space at the end of the blanket, allowing Thorfinn to throw himself down onto it while catching his breath.

"Well hello, stranger," he smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. Hermione rolled her eyes at the greeting, aware that they had both been tremendously busy due to the approaching holidays. Some teachers just would not give up until the very last day, much to the annoyance of the students. "And how are you today?"

"I'm fine," she answered, "looking forward to the Christmas holidays now, though."

"Speaking of Christmas," he said slyly, "I've been wondering what colour you're going with for the Yule Ball?"

"Why do you need to know?" Hermione responded, sounding just as smug as she closed her book. There was no point in moving the position of the bookmark, as nothing that she had tried to read had been absorbed while Thorfinn was lifting only a few metres away.

"I've not got my robes yet-"

"A bit last minute, isn't it?"

"Because I was thinking that it would be quite nice if we matched or something." Thorfinn stated, shaking his head in amusement at her sarcastic interruption. "I know I didn't do anything special when I asked you, so I thought a tie or whatever in the same colour as your dress would be nice… if you like that sort of thing."

"It's blue," she said, "I was going with pink initially, but I saw the blue one and it was just… the one."

"Blue," he hummed thoughtfully, running his eyes over her form, "is it light or dark?"

"Well, to be more specific, it's a periwinkle blue."

"Periwinkle?" Thorfinn asked with a frown. "Hermione, I'm a useless guy with absolutely no knowledge about this stuff. I've got no idea what periwinkle looks like – you're going to have to simplify it for me… don't go thinking I'm stupid though because I'm not-"

"I know you're not stupid," she cut in, giggling softly at his rant, "I happen to think that you are incredibly intelligent, actually. And periwinkle is a lighter one, by the way, and it's a little bit purple-y sometimes."

"Better get some robes ordered now, then." Thorfinn smirked. "Are you okay with getting back to the castle on your own? Or would you like me to walk you?"

"I'll be fine," Hermione smiled, flattered by his politeness. There had been absolutely no indications towards him being a true gentleman, but she was positively surprised by his continuous subtle gestures, "besides, I'd rather you spent the time on getting some proper robes for the ball."

"Would you not be my partner if I showed up in jeans?" He teased as he helped her to her feet.

"Robes, Thorfinn!" Hermione countered, swatting his arm with her book.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, "just for you."

"Good," she grinned, offering a small wave as she began walking back to the castle. Thorfinn smiled to himself, before suddenly realising that he still had to order in some new robes with money that he did not have.

"Well shit…" he mumbled to himself, kicking at the snow as he ambled back towards the Durmstrang ship.

Once he had returned, he immediately showered and changed into a casual red shirt and slacks before seeking out his headmaster. Karkaroff was not hard to find, as he was busy coddling Viktor Krum in the lounge area. Thorfinn stared at the two until he caught the attention of the headmaster, nodding his head to gesture the need of a private conversation. Karkaroff quickly apologised to Viktor before rushing off to his office with Thorfinn following.

"What is it?" Karkaroff asked, standing behind his desk. "Is it the egg? Have you solved it?"

"It's not the egg, sir," replied Thorfinn, standing respectfully with his hands behind his back, "it's actually about the Yule Ball."

"Do not tell me that you have scared your date away-"

"What?" Thorfinn scoffed. "No, of course not. I'm just in need of some new robes, but I can't afford them with the savings I have left that were offered by the Institute… so, I was wondering if there is a way for me to travel to Gringotts in order to formally access my vault."

"It's been made very clear that no one can apparate from these grounds." Karkaroff stated firmly, fiddling with the thin tip of his goatee.

"Is there not a floo network linked in with the ship?"

"Not a working one," snorted the headmaster, "Dumbledore and his faculty were very specific about their security measures – if you want to go to the bank, then you will have to find a way to travel from within the castle. Of course, that will likely result in a conversation with old Dumbledore… an idea you are aware I am not too fond of. There may be a few other floo networks scattered around the castle, but I cannot envision Severus Snape jumping at the idea to let you travel. If you were able to convince a different member of their staff, however, you may be able to pass through to Diagon Alley. Naturally, I will be unable to aid you in your quest; many of the professors are already weary of my presence, and would probably refuse the request from me due to purposeful spite…"

Thorfinn shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and glared down at the wooden floor. It was a troublesome conundrum, but not truly impossible. It was a shame that he had managed to make enemies out of the staff by smirking darkly when they watched him cautiously. No authority figure in the castle would simply say yes to his request. Professors such as Minerva McGonagall were already a lost cause, as their dislike for a Rowle descendent had been made clear-

Hold on…

Professor McGonagall.

Thorfinn laughed suddenly, clapping his hands with a newfound energy. Karkaroff flinched at the sudden outburst, frowning as his champion stalked out of the room with a conniving grin. Thorfinn quickly summoned a winter coat from his room before departing the ship.

Thoughts raced through his mind as he approached the castle, planning an interaction with the professor that appeared to dislike him the most of all. He knew that she was the head of the house of Gryffindor, which just so happened to be Hermione's affiliation. There was absolutely no way that McGonagall would open up the floo network for him alone, but if he revealed his connection with Hermione and the fact that she was his date for the ball… it was possible the witch would crumble at the thought of him wanting to treat Hermione like a princess for a night. Hermione was clearly one of McGonagall's favourites, judging by her intelligence and love for learning… and that had also been made clear when McGonagall had kept an unwavering eye on their interaction in the Great Hall.

The plot was adding up impossibly well, with the only issue being Thorfinn's lack of confidence when it came to finding desired locations in the castle. Without the guidance of Hermione or Peeves, getting around was still rather problematic. But still, he persevered only to eventually realise that the endeavour was borderline pointless. For the amount of students at Hogwarts, the castle was ridiculously large, and every time Thorfinn felt an inkling of success upon discovering a new pathway, he was brought back down to earth when he recognised that he was still walking around in deformed circles.

He'd been walking around aimlessly for at least half an hour when a sudden burst of luck finally emerged. The luck came in the form of an approaching boy, who had a dark complexion, very little hair on his head, and an exuberance of superiority which rapidly dissipated once his mahogany eyes settled on the Durmstrang champion. Thorfinn smirked in amusement, noting that even a boy so vain was able to recognise a sensation of irrelevance around him.

The Hogwarts pupil – who had initially attempted to rush past Thorfinn with his head down – had courteously introduced himself as Blaise Zabini. Thorfinn could immediately tell that the Slytherin fourth year was trying to butter him up and get on his good side, so he quickly pressed for directions and went on his way without bothering to acknowledge the nearby coat of armour that had fallen to pieces under a random magical pressure. The aristocratic types that were willing to take it up the rear for information and influence had always managed to irritate Thorfinn.

After following the detailed directions that had been provided by an annoyingly curious Blaise Zabini, Thorfinn finally stumbled upon the transfiguration classroom that Professor McGonagall was currently making use of. He lingered in the doorway for a brief moment, until McGonagall's attention drifted upwards from the large stack of essays that she had been assessing. The desk was overflowing with them, but the tremendous capacity of marking had soon become utterly insignificant to her. She watched cautiously as Thorfinn wandered casually into her classroom, wondering why in Godric's name the Durmstrang champion had made an effort to seek her out.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr Rowle?" Professor McGonagall questioned stiffly, placing her quill back in its holder as she watched Thorfinn grab a nearby stool and place it directly in front of the desk.

"There _is_ something I'm in need of, actually, professor," he said in a deviously rich tone, folding his arms across his large chest, "and the issue seems to concern one of your students, which is why I have come to you. Because believe me, professor, I am under no illusion that you are a fan – your dislike is made very clear."

"One of my students?"

"Yes," Thorfinn hummed, "one of your girls is my date to the Yule Ball, you see, and I was really hoping to make her night special-"

"Who are you taking?" Professor McGonagall asked very protectively, firing a glare of warning in his direction.

"I'm sure a part of you already knows the answer to that, professor." The smirk on his face was disgustingly attractive, and McGonagall knew that he had absolutely no problems when it came to catching the attention of the girls at Hogwarts. After his display of power during the first task and his elusive attitude, Thorfinn Rowle had immediately become the mysterious bad boy figure that she had scolded many of her students for whispering about. That reputation alone made him dangerous… especially if he was aiming to sink his conniving teeth into a wonderful, bright witch such as Hermione Granger. McGonagall hoped that it would not be Hermione accompanying him, and that it was instead someone slightly older like Alicia Spinnet or Angelina Johnson. But the way in which he had answered her question… she now knew what the interaction she had witnessed in the Great Hall had entailed.

"You look rather worried, professor," noted Thorfinn, breaking the suffocating silence, "you shouldn't be so wound up about it, though. I assure you I've only the purest intentions with Hermione – she's the only witch that I've ever bothered to actively seek out and her company is nice."

"What are you in need of, Mr Rowle?" Professor McGonagall said, reiterating her question while neglecting to comment on the smarmily presented – yet genuine – words.

"I require a way to travel to Gringotts," he said bluntly, "I all but promised Hermione I'd get some robes that coordinate with her dress, you see, but I happen to have been rather broke for the past seventeen years. Now I'm of age, however, I have access to what is rightfully mine, and the brand new robes won't come cheap."

"I'm afraid I cannot help you, Mr Rowle," she stated, "but I do admire your intention."

"You can't help me or you won't help me?"

"Both."

"Come on, professor," goaded Thorfinn, doing his best to keep his rising frustration at bay, "this is for Hermione first and foremost. Surely she deserves to have a lovely night after how hard she's been working as of late? Spending time with her is hard when she's always in the library with that Pince breathing down her neck, adding a ridiculous amount of detail to all of her work so that she gets full marks in _every_ _single_ essay-"

"I'm sorry Rowle," McGonagall cut in, disregarding the standoffish formalities while looking slightly sympathetic, "but letting you travel to Diagon Alley is very much against the rules, I'm afraid."

"And there's no way around that rule?" Thorfinn asked. "Even for Hermione?" Professor McGonagall sighed, shaking her head.

"I suppose… there is a way," she said quietly, "but…"

"What?"

"Well, I would have to go with you."

Thorfinn choked, then laughed.

"It's a date, then," he joked, "as long as you promise not to tell Hermione." McGonagall looked at him in surprise, having not expected such an open reaction from the young man. He had come across as rather closed off, and even reminded her of the young Tom Riddle that Dumbledore had described in vivid detail. But then, he'd joked, and it wasn't in the maliciously scheming pureblood manner either. Despite his established allegiance to Karkaroff and obvious exploration in regards to magical practices that were forbidden at Hogwarts… Thorfinn Rowle was suddenly not lost to her. In fact, Professor McGonagall suddenly saw him as the opposite. And if one of her favourite students played a part in pulling a joke like that out of him, then she saw no reason to block his request. Until Thorfinn hurt Hermione, Professor McGonagall was willing to extend him the benefit of the doubt.

"I wouldn't put it that way, Mr Rowle," she said, with the smallest of smiles gracing her ageing features.

"So are you able to make the trip today?"

"I can start up the floo in my office now if that is convenient." Professor McGonagall stated, rising from her chair.

"That would be great, honestly. Do you happen to know if there's anywhere that will sort out some good robes while we're there?"

"Madam Malkin will be up to the task – of that I'm very much positive."

Thorfinn trusted the words and found himself getting measured by Madam Malkin not long after. She had used the time taking his measurements to exchange pleasantries with Professor McGonagall, and it was clear to him that the two were familiar with one another. It was beneficial that McGonagall knew Malkin well, as Malkin agreed to get started on the robes without payment in advance when McGonagall assured her that a full payment would come following their visit to Gringotts. While Madam Malkin got to work on the large order, Thorfinn anxiously followed Professor McGonagall to the bank. The new place unsettled him immensely, despite the fact that it was still a part of the wizarding world. He hated the unknown, so entering the bank and allowing Bogrod to take him to his vault was like a breath of fresh air. McGonagall had opted not to travel to the vault with him, offering him a fair amount of privacy while he looked around.

The vault turned out to be fairly spectacular. Thorfinn was certainly as rich as the letter had implied, and he had managed to dig up an old scroll of parchment from underneath a pile of galleons by the door that detailed all properties that were in the Rowle name. Due to them not being listed in the original statement from the bank, Thorfinn presumed that his family had been traditionally secretive about their estates. The parchment read, in beautifully cursive writing that Thorfinn was incapable of despite his pureblood status, the following:

_The succeeding is a list of all properties and estates held in the Rowle name, only to be read by the Rowle heir and their equal. If you are not one of the two mentioned, and have miraculously stumbled upon this scroll, cease your endeavours now, or face a fate worse than death._

_In the event that there are no elders around to provide education regarding the Rowle properties, carefully comprehend that the only estate that is known by those outside the family is Rowle Manor. Other properties listed are only known by family, and can only be accessed by the Rowle heir and/or those who have been extended the right by said heir. No witch or wizard that is not immediate family has ever accessed these properties, however, therefore caution is advised in the event of an extreme deviation._

_All properties, listed in regards to their worth as of 1976 are as follows- _

_Rowle Manor, located just south of Oxford on the outskirts of Abingdon._

_Crossington House, located in the Lake District town of Windermere, with a rich view of the lake._

_East Lodge, located along the Scottish Stonehaven coast._

_Damocles House, located in the city of Durham._

_Rowle Cottage, another property in the Lake District, which looks over the village of Grasmere._

Thorfinn couldn't believe his eyes. He had very little interest in the manor, despite the fact that it likely possessed the main library and any important family heirlooms. What had caught his eye was Crossington House; it clearly had a high monetary value, and was positioned in a small tourist hotspot that he had never heard anything bad about. He was thankful that every property apart from the main estate was in the north, as it presented a familiarity that he preferred over any of the alternatives.

After making a mental note of the multiple properties, Thorfinn returned the scroll and began to shuffle around his vault. There were a few artefacts emanating rather vicious forms of magic, and he pointedly ignored them despite the fact that they weren't likely to harm him. Instead, he found himself drifting towards the tables and shelves that were overflowing with Rowle family jewels. The majority of the items appeared to be for the ladies of the ancient house, but there were a few large rings that were noticeable.

One ring, especially, was simply begging for Thorfinn's attention. It was a chunky, platinum band, with what looked to be the Rowle family crest engraved. There was a large 'R' symbol in the centre of the shield accompanied by a banner with some smaller letters he couldn't quite make out. Although slightly worn it still screamed importance, and so Thorfinn slid it to the base of his bulky middle finger. He balled his right hand up into a fist, taking a moment to admire his new claim. It was certainly adequate, he noted, before moving on to admire the rainbow of jewels before him.

There were diamonds upon diamonds, followed by piles of pearls and roads of rubies. And yet, Thorfinn was pulled towards the sapphires and stones with similar colours. He absentmindedly thought that the women of the Rowle family must have been materialistic high-society representatives; the amount of jewellery was absolutely absurd.

Thorfinn's electric eyes roamed the shelf in front of him, running over a bracelet and necklace set carelessly before suddenly jumping back. He didn't know it, but they were made purely of blue diamonds and platinum. What he did know was that they were intriguing. Unlike most of the Rowle family jewels, they were not dramatically over the top. There was still a small flamboyance due to the weaving pattern of the bracelet, but the prominent diamonds within did not scream overcompensation. The necklace, on the other hand, had the same weave in the chain, but was finished by a moderately sized charm of an occamy that had a hugely noticeable collection of blue diamonds interwoven throughout the design.

Thoroughly consumed by the unique nature of the pair, Thorfinn reached up for the black velvet box that was holding the two and took it from the shelf. He ran his large fingers over both objects, admiring the softness of the designs while feeling for any discreetly interlaced magic. He would not put it past his ancestors to be sneaky, especially in regards to their prized possessions. When he determined that there were no sly enchantments in place, Thorfinn snapped the lid of the box to a close before grabbing a bottomless bag of galleons and exiting his vault.

Professor McGonagall was waiting patiently for him by the front doors of Gringotts, and she eyed the small box with suspicion while they wandered back up to Madam Malkin's. Malkin had only finished his black trousers and white shirt upon their return, leaving them to sit awkwardly as they awaited the finished product. Throughout the wait, Thorfinn could feel her gaze constantly falling to the box in his left hand. It became increasingly irritating after a while, and he clenched his jaw to hold in a comment as he passed the box over to her.

Professor McGonagall's sharp intake of breath was painfully blatant and he couldn't help but give her the side eye.

"Jewellery?" McGonagall questioned, holding the box up in order to inspect the items closely. Thorfinn could tell that she was also searching for any deliberate magic within the objects, but he would be immensely surprised if she discovered anything that he did not. "Is this… to be a gift?"

"The colours made me think of the Yule Ball, and I thought Hermione might accept it as a Christmas present." Thorfinn said honestly, his voice so quiet that McGonagall almost missed the end of the clause. "And there's a ridiculous amount of jewellery in that vault, honestly – it's not like I've got a lot of use for it…"

"Rowle…" she uttered, "these look nothing short of priceless. It's highly possible that they are also a representation of your family name, which would be sending a brazen message to the wizarding families that are privy to such information…"

"Well, Hermione doesn't need to bother herself with that last part," he said bluntly, taking back the box, "if anything, the message will be to treat her with the respect she deserves, or face the consequences if I find that that is not the case. If these make it stupidly obvious then so be it – I want those people that target her to know that she has formidable protection."

"She is already an incredibly powerful witch." Professor McGonagall stated. "If you intend to be her knight in shining armour, I doubt you will get very far. And if you refuse to acknowledge that she will not allow you to be that, then I will cease to support your coming actions as I have today-"

"Stop worrying, professor," he scoffed, shaking his head, "she's the only witch I see as a potential equal. That's a respect I already extend to her."

"Just be careful, Mr Rowle," she advised, an underlying graveness in her tone, "for Miss Granger's sake, specifically… and also for your own."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Christmas Day was as bland as ever for Thorfinn Rowle. The solitude that he found in his own company had left him without a reason to celebrate during the most wonderful time of the year. It was a loneliness that he had come to terms with many years prior, and the day dedicated to family and giving had become a simple routine of forgetting. This year, the morning was no different for Thorfinn. The afternoon, however, as well as the coming night, were very much a deviation from the normality.

The prospect of the Yule Ball brought dread… but also a discreet, anxious anticipation all because of one Hermione Granger. The velvet box of priceless jewels sat patiently beside the golden egg, almost teasing Thorfinn about the fact that he had not found an opportunity to gift it. There had never been a need for him to own an owl, as he hadn't had anyone to contact outside of the Durmstrang Institute. Lacking an owl certainly seemed to be posing a slight issue for him currently, however, as communicating with Hermione was far from the easiest thing in the world.

He hoped that he would be able to get the gift to her before the ball began, but as the afternoon progressed that wish coming to fruition was becoming increasingly unlikely. The only plot that Thorfinn could concoct was storming the Gryffindor common room, but that was very much a plan Z. Going to Professor McGonagall did not seem wise, as he had already pushed her trust in him as far as he thought to be possible. Then there was Harry Potter, but they had only ever conversed briefly and Thorfinn had no doubts that his fellow champion was tucked away in his common room enjoying Christmas and trying to prepare for the Yule Ball also.

The hours of the day had passed ridiculously quickly, and Thorfinn knew that the inextricably ludicrous plan Z was the closest thing he had to an opportunity. The idea of storming the Gryffindor tower was phrased rather extremely, so he reasoned that a better description would be a: knock, wait, and then possibly persuade the Fat Lady approach. He couldn't quite fathom the ridiculousness of it all, but his entire time at Hogwarts had been nothing short of a whirlwind of bizarre and for some reason he knew that his plan Z would not be the zaniest occurrence of the school year.

By the time Thorfinn departed the ship, dressed up in the newly purchased robes that looked nothing like those of his classmates, he had come to terms with the fact that the term 'last minute' was a perfect description of his situation. It was made clear by the fact that Hogwarts was the quietest Thorfinn had ever seen it, as the only living witches and wizards he had seen were the multiple members of staff who were doing their best to decorate the Great Hall extravagantly. There were no students in sight, as they were all getting themselves ready for the coming evening festivities; it was strange to experience the castle in such a dormant state, but Thorfinn's general appreciation for his own company made him relish the rare moment.

It was a peaceful trek to the Gryffindor common room, and there were no issues whatsoever. Naturally, there was always _something_ not going Thorfinn's way at Hogwarts, and that thing today was labelled the Fat Lady.

"Oh," the Fat Lady voiced as Thorfinn approached, looking him over with a ravenous eye, "aren't you a handsome one this evening… password?"

"I'm not one of yours." He said bluntly, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the gaze of the portrait. The Fat Lady appeared to be enjoying the view immensely and he was tempted to say that she wasn't his type.

"Well," she sighed dramatically, "that's most unfortunate." Her eyes continued to roam him despite the sentiment, taking in the encompassing darkness of his black shoes, trousers, and outer robes. Even with such shadowy colours, the grey waistcoat and white shirt proved that Thorfinn was a mix of both worlds; the periwinkle blue tie stood out the most however, as it made his electric eyes pop beautifully despite the fact that they were narrowed and cold.

"I have a question for you," he said finally, acting as if he had not noticed one of the wooden borders of a nearby painting crack.

"You may ask." The fat Lady stated, eyeing up the direction of the painting when she heard an alarmed yelp. A few inhabitants from paintings surrounding the damaged frame crossed over into the medieval farmlands to get a closer look at the random occurrence.

"Are you capable of sending a message inside your common room? Or perhaps even to a specific dormitory… if you know who the message is for?"

"Oh, you cheeky devil, you!" The Fat Lady giggled briefly and the high pitch had Thorfinn wincing. "If you were any less handsome, I would scold you for distastefully courting one of my lions!"

"Courting?" Thorfinn choked. "Alright, can you send the message or not? Because the eye-fucking is starting to really irritate me." The Fat Lady spluttered in disgust at the language, and he knew at that point he had stuck his foot in his mouth. Actually, forget his mouth, Thorfinn had stuck his foot so far down his throat that he would have to either spew it up or excrete it out.

"Foul boy," she wheezed, "foul, foul boy. No one has spoken to me in such a way for as long as I have guarded this common room – and believe me, mister, I've heard a fair share of language from people who forget the password!"

"Good for you…"

"You know, that rudeness you exhibited would never be tolerated by one of _my_ Gryffindors! I find it terribly hard to believe that one of the delightful young ladies behind this portrait would be fooled by that chiselled jaw-"

"Accio will to live…" Thorfinn muttered sarcastically, pointedly ignoring the Fat Lady as she continued on her heated tirade. Many of the other portraits had decided to watch the spectacle, and Thorfinn couldn't help but fold his arms and look down with a sigh. As the Fat Lady carried on furiously, magic began to creep down towards his left palm. He clenched his fist, doing his best to suppress the urge. But then the patience wavered, and the Fat Lady was suddenly silenced.

The Fat Lady quickly grabbed at her throat, looking incredibly fearful as her mouth open and closed repeatedly. She had no idea if she would ever be able to sing again, let alone converse with her peers and the Gryffindor students. Thorfinn watched her with a feeling of dark satisfaction, smirking as her accusing gaze silently settled on him. He shrugged, and then pointed repeatedly at the portrait to let his desires be known. The Fat Lady shook her head.

"Oh, well, I suppose your wonderful voice is not that precious to you after all…" If the Fat Lady could cry out, she would have likely sobbed at the implication. She continued to shake her head, and did not stop even when the portrait clicked open an inch. Thorfinn smirked to himself, using a lone index finger to push open the portrait slightly further.

"Thanks, bitch," he mumbled, stepping cautiously inside and allowing it to close behind him. If anything, the Gryffindor common room was smaller than he had expected. The size of Hogwarts had resulted in him expecting something a little more, honestly. There were a few young students making use of the common area while all of the older pupils were in their dormitories preparing for the ball, but none of them had noticed Thorfinn's intrusion just yet. At least, that was what he had thought…

Demelza Robins – a girl on good terms with Ginny Weasley due to their shared love of Quidditch – was halfway down the stairs that led to the girls' dormitories when she noticed the looming figure. Without hesitating, the young girl flung herself back up the staircase and her auburn hair whipped her across the face as a result of the speed. Many of Demelza's roommates were downstairs, so she instinctively barrelled into the fourth year dormitory as she knew that Ginny was in there getting ready with Hermione Granger.

Lavender Brown jumped in surprise when Demelza dashed in, and the mascara she had been carefully applying slipped upwards, drawing a harsh line all the way through her eyebrow and up to her hairline. Parvati Patil quickly fixed it with a mix of magic and muggle techniques, but the two girls still glared harshly at Demelza as she made her way over to Hermione and Ginny. Ginny looked up from the work she was doing with Hermione's hair, slightly confused.

"Ginny," gasped Demelza, finally taking a breath, "you'll never guess who I just saw sneak into the common room!"

"No one can sneak in," scoffed Ginny, shaking her head in disbelief as she went back to taming Hermione's vivacious mane.

"Then tell me why I just saw the Durmstrang champion slip past the painting-"

"_What_?!" Hermione demanded in shock, so loudly that everyone in the room turned to her in surprise.

"He's literally downstairs," Demelza continued innocently.

"Ginny," whispered Hermione urgently, glancing down at her old pyjamas, "I couldn't possibly go down looking like-"

"It's OK," the youngest Weasley said quickly, abandoning the bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion in her hand, "I'll go down and sort this, alright? You just focus on getting that hair finished." With that, Ginny charged off towards the common room, leaving Demelza to follow hesitantly behind her. Ginny found him soon enough, dressed in robes that probably cost him as much as it would cost someone to buy her house. Thorfinn Rowle looked tremendously out of place in the Gryffindor common room, and having Colin Creevey staring up at him in awe seemed to be making the Durmstrang champion rather annoyed.

"Rowle," she called out as quietly as possible. Thorfinn looked down at the fiery young Gryffindor, automatically forgetting that Colin existed.

"And you are?" He asked plainly.

"Hermione's best girl mate." Ginny snapped back. "I hope that's not the sort of attitude you give her, by the way – she's told me you're not an arse but you're not making a very good impression."

"I need to see her," said Thorfinn, "now, preferably."

"Why?"

"Because I want to, that's why." He retorted rather petulantly.

"Well you can't," sassed Ginny, "there's charms on the stairs that lead to the girls' rooms – they stop boys from getting up there."

"I happen to enjoy studying charms," he commented randomly, "and it would be rather embarrassing if petty ones like those got the better of me. I'll slip by them no problem… lead the way, _best_ _girl_ _mate_."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." She shrugged, moving ascend the stairs. Without looking back, Ginny returned to the fourth year dormitory while laughing to herself. Everyone knew about the alarms that went off when a boy touched the very first step, and she couldn't wait to tease him for his arrogance later in the night. When she opened the door to the room, she noted that the alarm had still not sounded. Perhaps Thorfinn had thought better of it and left before causing a scene?

Even though Ginny knew that there was no way the charms could be bypassed, she still closed the door and checked the hallway just to be one hundred percent sure.

Thorfinn was there. He was standing right behind her with a charming, incorrigible smirk on his face.

"How did you do it?" Ginny rushed out in alarm, glaring when he simply tapped his temple twice. She growled in annoyance before knocking on the door and cracking it open slightly. "Is everyone decent?"

"Yeah, why?" Fay Dunbar called out from inside, receiving no response as Ginny swung the door open and entered with Thorfinn following closely behind.

"This must be some sort of joke!" Lavender screeched, looking up at Thorfinn with an obsessively loving gaze. "Ginny's going with Neville Longbottom and you're way too old for her anyway-"

"I'm not going with her," said Thorfinn simply, moving across the room to perch on the end of Hermione's bed. Hermione looked at him in surprise from her seated position next to her pillow, still trying to comprehend the fact that he had bypassed the charms and successfully entered the girls' dormitories.

"He's going with me." Hermione clarified after a pregnant pause, noting that both Parvati and Lavender were glaring at her enviously. Fay, on the other hand, appeared rather indifferent about her choice of date, but remained wary about the presence of a boy in the room.

"Had to score myself the prettiest witch in the castle," he said in a tone that only Hermione understood as joking, "trophy dates, and all that jazz."

Hermione threw a nearby lipstick at him.

"But I wasn't lying." Thorfinn grinned, tossing the item back. "You do look very nice – even in the pyjamas – and I swear down right now that there will be no witch tonight that comes close to you."

"Thank you, Thorfinn," she said quietly, "but… why is it that you're here? I'm not sure there is much point in asking exactly _how _it is that you're here, but I'd still like to know why. There's still another hour-"

"I have a gift for you," he cut in, silencing her rambling before reaching inside the black outer robes. He pulled out the velvet box, making the other girls break out into whispers while both Ginny and Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. "You see, I was sorting out my robes the other day, and I came across something that reminded me of you. I've got no use for it myself, but I was hoping that you would make me a very happy wizard and accept these for this evening… and also as a Christmas present, I suppose. I've never really given a gift like this before though, so I'm sorry it looks rather plain."

"It doesn't look plain at all, Thorfinn," mumbled Hermione, taking the box that he had been holding out towards her. It was slightly heavier than she had anticipated, so she placed it down on the bed before sliding open the lid. Her whiskey eyes – already wider than usual – became even bigger once she registered the contents. It was clear to her that both the necklace and the bracelet were brimming with diamonds, and the price was surely astronomical… what had he been thinking? Yes, many old pureblood families were notoriously rich, but these were worth far too much…

"Thorfinn," she whispered, "these are… beautiful. But, I don't know how I could accept such a gift. You could probably buy houses with how much these are worth-"

"They're for you," he stated resolutely, "I want you to have them."

"But I haven't even gotten you anything…"

"You being my date for the night is the best and the only Christmas present that I'm old enough to remember receiving. If anything, Hermione, these jewels still can't compare to the gift of company you're giving me tonight. So… I'd really appreciate it if you accepted them and wore them later…"

"Thorfinn," Hermione interrupted softly, "I think I need to know how much-"

"Priceless." Thorfinn shrugged carelessly. "I visited my vault for the first time recently, and discovered that Rowle women have apparently had a love for ridiculously expensive jewellery. I'm the only heir now, though, and I've not really got a use for it, so when I saw those and thought of you I immediately knew that they had to be a gift."

"Merlin, Granger!" Parvati piped up, thoroughly exasperated now that the shock had worn off. "Just accept the bloody jewellery before I nick it and wear it myself – it's not like Harry's done anything thoughtful for me-"

"Seamus just told me to look fitter than usual for the night," said Lavender in agreement.

"Fine." Hermione ground out, putting the box to one side. "Thank you, Thorfinn, I'll make sure to wear them tonight." He beamed genuinely at the shatter of her resolve and her heart warmed. She could tell that he had been struggling to be himself with her when there were other people around, but that expression alone was enough to make her want to give him a huge hug. Unfortunately, Hermione's roommates were a nightmare and she couldn't be bothered to brave the consequences. It wasn't too much of an issue though, as the two would be close enough later in the evening when the obligatory dances kicked off.

"So," he started, "I'll see you soon?"

"Of course," Hermione grinned, "and I'll actually be dressed, when we meet when we're supposed to…"

"I'm not sorry." Thorfinn chuckled, looking over the plaid pyjama bottoms and old Gryffindor t-shirt. "I happen to quite like the current ensemble, honestly. I reckon there's not much that's better than being comfortable… you know what I'm like… with me and my magic."

"Alright," interjected Ginny, "you're getting in the way, Rowle, and there's still work to be done."

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed, offering Ginny a brief glance of acknowledgement before returning his attention to Hermione, "I know where I'm not wanted. I'll see you in an hour or so, Hermione – with the necklace and bracelet that match the dress."

* * *

Ten minutes. Thorfinn had been pulled away from Hermione for no more than ten minutes, and during the minimal time apart it was obvious that something had changed. Obvious was perhaps an understatement, because there had been a beautiful, breathless smile on Hermione's face when they had parted. Now, however, she was crying. She sat on the stairs in the entrance hall, slipping off her heels as she sniffled and wiped at the stray tears underneath her eyes.

And to think, it had been such a wonderful night. It had kicked off with Thorfinn looking momentarily gobsmacked as Hermione had descended the stairs. The flowing blue robes had been a choice that would be etched into the depths of his memory, and the simple sight of some of the Rowle family diamonds around Hermione's neck was a powerful message that struck a chord not only within him, but also within some of the nosey purebloods that had spotted the jewels during the entrance of the champions.

The meal had not gone too badly for Thorfinn either, due to the fact that many were smart enough to leave him alone while he conversed privately with Hermione. Professor Karkaroff had found it prudent to cut in a couple of times, but Thorfinn's frosty attitude and the trembling of Karkaroff's goblet had been enough of a warning. As nice as the surroundings were, Thorfinn remained thoroughly uncomfortable throughout the ball and stuck to Hermione like glue. He took advantage of the fact that she was indeed his date for the night, and his bulky arm was snaked around her waist at every chance available. It was nice to be able to enjoy her company, despite her wanting to take advantage of the dancefloor. Dancing was far from Thorfinn's favourite pastime, but he settled on consistent lifting manoeuvres that always resulted in her being insanely close upon landing.

Eventually, Hermione had grown tired from all of the dancing and Thorfinn felt a wave of relief wash over him (it similar to the feeling of the water of a cold shower during a humid British summer). She'd opted to seek out Harry and Ron while Thorfinn grabbed a couple of drinks, and he ended up missing the heated argument between her and the latter of two because of the conversation that Krum and Poliakoff had dragged him into. And that was how the current situation had arose: Hermione in tears, while Thorfinn stood off to the side because he was unsure of how to approach everything.

Thorfinn sighed to himself, aware that he was being intimidated by the tears of a girl he fancied quite a lot. He shrugged off his black robes as he finally moved towards her, draping the comically large jacket over Hermione's shoulders before taking a seat beside her. She looked away for a moment while grabbing at the neck of the robes and pulling them tighter. Thorfinn cautiously knocked her left knee with his own, effectively earning the attention he desired.

"What's wrong?" Thorfinn asked bluntly, resting his elbows on his knees while he searched her busy expression. There were a multitude of emotions crossing her gorgeous face and the small movements in her throat indicated that any words she was attempting to formulate were catching way before release. "Please, Hermione, I can't help if you don't tell me."

"I – I know, I'm sorry…"

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," he said, both sounding and looking slightly confused as she dropped her head onto his large shoulder.

"No, I – well, I shouldn't be crying like this. It's ruining both of our nights."

"What? You crying isn't ruining my night at all. Look, the only thing that's getting to me right now is not knowing why you're upset. If someone's done something all you have to do is tell me the name and I swear to fucking Merlin I will drag them here kicking and screaming, throw them at your feet, and kick the shit out of them until they apologise to you so many times that-"

"Stop, Thorfinn," said Hermione sharply, emotion still thick in her soothing voice as she reached for one of his clenched fists, "you don't need to get angry or involve yourself – it was just a little spat with Ron, honestly…"

"It's not really little if it made you cry." He said firmly, taking deep breaths as he looked around at the nearby scenery in an attempt to calm himself. It was a miracle that nothing had exploded yet in all fairness, but that was likely due to the fact that Hermione was drawing light patterns along the rough pads of his fingers; the action was incredibly calming, and he could tell that she was aware of the effects. "I don't like seeing you cry," Thorfinn proclaimed, "it's making me feel a bit helpless – you not telling me how to fix it or letting me do something about what's made you upset – and I think being useless just creates anger, and I really, _really_ want to beat the shit out of that little rat-"

"Thorfinn."

"Yeah, I know… can you just… tell me how I can put a stop to it? All I want right now is to see that smile back on your face."

"Could we just go back inside?" Hermione asked, sliding her heels back on. "I'm sure there's a bit of time left before they kick everyone out of the Great Hall, and I'd really like to try and end the night on a high."

"Of course," said Thorfinn, rising to his feet and then offering her his hand, "whatever you want, I'll make sure that you have it." She smiled, handing him back his jacket before tucking herself into his side. Thorfinn couldn't help but smirk to himself, enjoying the feel of her up against him as they moved back inside. Not many people were left in the Great Hall at his point, with the standout couples being Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom, and Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson. Ginny noticed Hermione looking a little worn down and shot her a questioning look; Hermione merely shook her head, indicating that there was no issue to address urgently. Obviously, Ginny would pester her as soon as they were tucked away in the Gryffindor common room… and Hermione found herself feeling quite eager to throw Ron under the (night) bus after what he had said to her.

Regardless, grassing up Ron to his force of a sister could wait. Being present in the moment with Thorfinn was far more important, as he'd put in a lot of effort to make her night memorable and she wanted to prove that she was grateful for all he had done. The diamonds hung around her neck like a looming reminder of his implied affections and all Hermione felt from the item was peace. As they danced slowly among the scattered couples, she realised that she deeply enjoyed the attention Thorfinn had offered her since his arrival, with him being one of the first boys in her life to actually comprehend the fact that she was indeed a girl and all. Thorfinn being incredibly good looking only made the situation that much sweeter, and although his past had left him occasionally challenged, she could tell that he would not let that stop him from achieving his goals getting and what he wished for.

He was certainly not perfect. Hermione knew that she would need to remain wary of his lack of patience and subsequently explosive magic. It wasn't that she thought he would harm her, but she was concerned about other people and also the state of the castle should he become drastically furious. Despite the obvious violent urges, Hermione could see that deep behind the cool glare was someone who she had a strong desire to get to know even better. She wanted to listen to him speak passionately about the subjects of magic that he loved, while he switched between his engraved Mancunian accent and the sophisticated pureblood tone that he had tried to force directly over it. And, while she knew that it would not be a delightful conversation, she wanted to hear more of his past before Durmstrang as well; there were so many questions, honestly. Did he really hate every _single_ muggle? Had there truly been no one who had been at least temporarily by his side?

So, so many questions that she didn't dare ask just yet. But hopefully in time, she could. Perhaps he would open up to her completely if they continued down the path that they were going in. Hermione could only wish upon a star that that would be the case.

As the night finally drew to a close, Hermione found herself hugging Thorfinn tremendously tightly while burying her face in his chest. He was quick to return the embrace, but the watchful gaze of Professor McGonagall from across the room was enough to keep him from making any bolder of a move. Even so, Thorfinn was content with the affection. It made him feel as if he was going in the right direction with Hermione and the closeness also gave him the opportunity to appreciate the discreet scent of her citrusy perfume. It was indescribably angelic, with the ability to pull him in so far that he could not find a way to leave.

"Hermione," mumbled Thorfinn, making her pull back slightly to look up at him, "is it okay if I walk you back?"

Hermione smiled widely, taking his hand in her own and leading the way.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry for the wait with this one. I haven't written anything at all in about nine months so I thought I'd try again with this story in order to work off the rust. Trying to get back into writing was much harder than I anticipated so please go easy on me with this one lol, I'm worried it's not up to par. Nevertheless, I'd like to use the rare note to thank everyone that has reviewed and followed this story during the hiatus, and also to let people know that if there are any questions, please DM them and I'll do my best to answer or simply chat about whatever (rather than filling this with huge author's notes).

Chapter 11

Within the mysterious depths of the intelligent mind of Thorfinn Rowle, rude awakenings on Saturday mornings were deemed nothing short of a criminal offence. A Sunday was bad enough, but a Saturday was utterly inexcusable.

Igor Karkaroff had committed such an offence.

Thorfinn was nothing short of furious of course, swearing incessantly under his breath while rolling over in his bed and covering his head with the luxurious pillow. While he refused to admit it to himself, he had consumed slightly too much alcohol the night before, and the relentless hammering on the stern wooden door only intensified the sharp pulsing of a headache behind his eyes. He silently begged for the intrusion to cease; at this point, there was still a small chance of him being able to fall back asleep. But Karkaroff did not let up, and Thorfinn let out an agonized groan when he heard the door creak open with force.

"Get up, boy!" Karkaroff bellowed, allowing the door to slam shut behind him as he committed yet another criminal offence by invading Thorfinn's personal sanctuary of solitude. He strode forward to the end of Thorfinn's bed and – like an everyday parent wrathfully trying to force their child out of bed – gripped the duvet in two huge fists before yanking it away with the force of a grizzly bear. The duvet fell to the floor with an audible thud and Thorfinn groaned once more, feeling the winter air prick at his bare skin like hundreds of miniature shards of ice. Apparently, sleeping in only a pair of black boxers had not been a wise choice.

"Get out." Thorfinn said firmly in annoyance, removing the pillow from his head and glaring up at Karkaroff in the process. The Durmstrang Headmaster had seemed even tenser than usual as of late (and even more unapproachable also) but that didn't stop Thorfinn from giving attitude after being woken unjustly on a Saturday.

Karkaroff's prominent brow deepened, and the pulsing vein in his neck indicated that a poisonous tone was on its way up to his dry lips. However, no yell spilled over. Instead, Karkaroff simply frowned before stating, "I have the answer to the egg."

"You mean you've cracked it?" Thorfinn asked blandly, slowly sitting up while stretching out the chronically sore muscles in his back.

"This is no time for jokes," replied Karkaroff, "we have already wasted enough time sitting around idly – now is the time to prepare." Sighing through his nose, Thorfinn wondered why this conversation couldn't have waited a few more hours. His brain had always worked more efficiently in the afternoons in comparison to mornings, but it most certainly functioned best late at night. While the rest of the world around him was switched off, his brain was switched on.

"So," started Thorfinn, "what is it?"

"You must submerge it under a body of water," answered Karkaroff, flashing that nasty smile that almost all who associated with him were familiar with, "but unfortunately for you, we only have showers on the ship since there is not enough room to be filling rooms with baths…"

"And you expect me to do what, exactly?" Thorfinn scoffed sarcastically. "Take a dive into the lake?" Karkaroff was silent for a moment, and the incredulous amusement fell from Thorfinn's face faster than Neville Longbottom fell from his broom during his first year. The expression of shock quickly turned to one of anger and within seconds the resounding crack of one of the wooden planks beneath the bed echoed through the tense atmosphere of the small space. Was this man serious? Was he insane? Well, he was clearly insane and there was no doubt about it. Asking his Triwizard Champion to jump head first into the Black Lake slap-bang in the middle of the Scottish winter? Absolutely ludicrous. Hypothermia, anybody?

"Well," began Karkaroff, "once you are finished throwing a fit like a child, get changed and meet me outside with that egg. Though I suggest you sort yourself out quickly, boy, you are technically a lord now that you have seized your family's _pure_ wealth after all… this delinquent attitude of yours certainly will not be excused by those who welcome you into high society in the coming future…" It looked as if Karkaroff felt the need to say more but thought better of it, snapping his jaw to a close and quickly departing from the room.

It was painfully obvious to Thorfinn that there was going to be a vicious snipe about his choice of company in there if Karkaroff had continued his speech. After all, the livid lecture that Thorfinn had received after the Yule Ball had made it incredibly clear that the headmaster did not agree with his date. The way in which Hermione had been insulted had caused what was likely the most damage he had ever inflicted during a single moment of rage, and perhaps it had been relegated to so volatile of a topic that even a wizard such as Igor Karkaroff dared not bring it up again. Thorfinn was content with that being the case, as even just thinking of that argument and the way in which Hermione had been described caused the blood all throughout his body to simmer uncontrollably.

He did his best to push back those thoughts as he searched for his only pair of swimming trunks. As much as Karkaroff had angered him, Thorfinn did somewhat agree with the fact that he needed to improve his control. Suddenly becoming Lord Rowle after his horrendous early years and rather mundane schooling career was a jolt to the system at the very least. He was _someone_ now. Not just a ridiculously large wizard with an outrageously short fuse accompanied by explosive magic. Thorfinn Rowle was THE Rowle, and he was far from naïve in regards to what would be expected from him if he was to return to Britain for good.

"Finally." Thorfinn muttered to himself, snatching up a pair of dark red swimming trunks that had been hiding mischievously within all of his workout clothes. He sighed as he thought about what he was about to do, flicking the cap off of his nearby bottle of firewhisky and taking a brief swig for good measure.

After getting changed and exiting his room, Thorfinn immediately got to work on warming charms, not keen on the thought of being stuck in the Hogwarts hospital wing while having his toes regrown. It was a grim thought, but the lake was likely to be insanely cold.

The grimace on Thorfinn's face was clear for the world to see the second he stepped outside, cradling the golden egg in his left arm. Karkaroff let out another nasty laugh from the far end of the deck, signalling Thorfinn closer with a flippant wave of the hand while the student reluctantly strode forward with chattering teeth. The wind was utterly horrific, and there were small, fleeting flakes of sleet in the air following the light shower at the crack of dawn. Thorfinn glared at Karkaroff as he neared and once he reached the side of the ship, he peered over the edge and took in the murky waters with an expression of intense distaste.

Meanwhile, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, they saw Thorfinn Rowle and an incredibly smug looking Igor Karkaroff on the deck, the former in nothing more than swimming trunks. Hermione noticed first (having naturally glanced over to where Thorfinn currently called home) and promptly caught her toe on one of the small rocks poking out of the muddy grounds. Her body jerked forward as a result of the shock before she quickly righted herself, and her face flushed a poetic pink upon hearing Harry snicker at her clumsiness from beside her. Luckily for Hermione, Ron hadn't noticed the literal stumble as he had been distracted by the abnormal sight also.

Hermione looked back to the ship once more after the three of them came to a stop, all wondering why Thorfinn was standing shirtless on the ship's deck during an especially icy January. She couldn't help but take him in, if only from such a distance. He wasn't slim like the majority of the wizards she found herself around at Hogwarts but she'd known that fact already. What Hermione had not seen, however, was the true extent of the broadness of his shoulders and the way in which the muscles in his back rippled when attacked by the worst of the gusts of winds. Apparently he was just as tough as he looked as well, because as she had been shamelessly admiring her Yule Ball date the wizard in question had climbed up onto the side of the ship.

Hermione felt her heart jump up into her throat when Thorfinn did a cannonball into the freezing lake, cradling the golden egg in his bulky arms as he created a gigantic splash. The impact was followed by some rather stunning ripples on the water's surface, but she was too overcome with confusion and worry to notice such a thing.

"He's mad!" Harry exclaimed, drawing Hermione's attention while all three stared at Thorfinn's blonde head as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. "It must be freezing, it's January!"

"Well I suppose it's a lot colder where he's living," said Hermione, doing her best to find some logic within the situation. "Perhaps it feels warmer to him than it would us."

"You'd know," said Ron in a bland tone. "Besides, there's still the giant squid in there." He didn't sound anxious – if anything, he sounded hopeful. Hermione noticed this and immediately frowned, feeling an innate urge to defend the Durmstrang wizard. She didn't think it was fair when people like Ron judged him so harshly without knowing anything about him, but she knew she had to be careful of revealing the secrets he had told her in confidence.

"He's really nice, you know," said Hermione. "I'm sure after their brief interactions even Harry would vouch for him, wouldn't you Harry?"

Harry, glancing between his two best friends like a deer caught in front of the world's brightest headlights, eventually shrugged. "Well, he does seem a bit unpredictable…" started Harry, only to shrink under Hermione's pointed glare. "But he's been fine with me."

"See, Ron?" Hermione jumped in quickly, taking advantage of the momentum while it was still teetering on her side. "He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. And he actually grew up over here, too… it's why his English is far more advanced than his classmates."

Ron said nothing; the topic of Thorfinn Rowle had been ignored since the blow up following the Yule Ball. Harry was content to keep it that way, since another petty fall out between his best friends was not what he needed now that he and Ron were back on track. Besides, he'd heard more than enough of their squabbling after rat-gate the previous school year…

* * *

"Come seek us – where our voices sound. We cannot – sing above the ground. And while you're searching – ponder this: we've taken – what you'll sorely miss."

Thorfinn tapped his right foot, clicking his fingers to the beat he'd created. Rather than taking a quick dip in the lake every time he wanted to hear the chorus within the egg, Thorfinn had taken to memorising the song by making it into somewhat of a rap that he could recite.

"An hour long… you'll have to look. And to recover what we took. But past an hour – the prospect's black. Too late it's gone – it won't come back…"

He sighed to himself, closing his eyes and taking in the silence of his room. Thorfinn's mind had been on nothing but the task since he had been fished out of the Black Lake. Coming up with ways to breathe underwater for an hour was hard enough, but there was also the issue of the final section of the rhyme. How could something of his be taken when he didn't value anything enough to miss it so? The idea of Professor Dumbledore commandeering Thorfinn's record player or alcohol for a Triwizard Tournament task seemed beyond laughable, and he simply had nothing else in his possession. Even the ring he'd taken from his vault wasn't of such a value to him that he'd sorely miss it; it was just a piece of old jewellery after all.

So then what did it mean? Headmaster Karkaroff had been no help of course; the man had simply chortled deviously and told him to hide his non-existent wife and children in what Thorfinn guessed was an attempt at a foul joke. So he was simply stuck, watching the routine days pass by while he continued to train and quietly work on a couple of ambitious transfigurations.

And the days were boring for another reason, too, as Thorfinn regretted to admit that he hadn't seen much of Hermione at all since the end of December. Schooling and schedules for the both of them had come in full force ever since the start of January had rolled around, and Thorfinn had noticed that Karkaroff had been up to his scheming ways, altering Thorfinn's timetables and meal times so that they were no longer in sync with Hermione's like they had been prior to Christmas. It was slightly infuriating for Thorfinn, but he knew that there was not much that he could do about it. At the end of the day, if they were meant to be _anything_, they would be. Perhaps it would just take time.

He'd only bumped into Hermione a couple of times since the ball, though most of their interactions had been fleeting moments as a result of one of them needing to be somewhere. One of those times had been after Hermione had been to Hogsmeade. She'd managed to catch him while he was sneaking to the Hogwarts kitchens for a hot chocolate, claiming that the drinks up in the castle were far nicer than any he could get hold of on the ship. While she knew she couldn't keep him company for long, Hermione did manage to find the time to sit down for half a hot chocolate with him and also offer him a late Christmas present.

Having spent most of the money her parents had given her on her gown for the Yule Ball, Hermione felt incredibly guilty about not being able to give a more extravagant gift. Thorfinn didn't seem to notice her doubts about the gift however, claiming he would treasure the quill for as long as he was able and very much enjoy the miniature millionaire's shortbread that she had gotten him. Yes, it did not look like much next to the priceless jewels that Thorfinn had gifted before the ball. But Thorfinn was not fussed about that at all. Rather, he'd just grinned at the fact that Hermione had gone out of her way to get him something in return… even if it was quite late.

January soon moulded into February and the struggle to spend time with Hermione was very much the same. In fact, it had perhaps even worsened as the second task neared. Karkaroff was working him to the bone in all aspects of education and extracurricular activities, and Thorfinn had reached a point where he barely had time to say a quick 'hello, you alright?' to Hermione as one of them entered the library and the other exited. It was becoming a slightly upsetting cycle and a few days before the task Thorfinn finally put his foot down.

He ignored all of his evening obligations. And it was worth it. The initial surprise on Hermione's face and the beaming, beautiful smile she had given him when he caught her outside of the Great Hall and suggested they sneak off to the kitchens for dinner was very much worth it.

"I don't think I realised how much I actually missed this." Thorfinn stated once he had swallowed a few large forkfuls of steaming chicken pie. Hermione, who had been tactically cutting into and separating scorching shepherd's pie in order for it to cool faster, couldn't help but pause and glance up to see the genuine gleam in the striking blue eyes that she had missed more than she thought she would.

"I know," said Hermione. "I hadn't realised how much I'd gotten used to your company until now – this feels almost normal again, I suppose you could say."

"I'm sorry. It's my fault."

"Why would you think that?" Hermione questioned, her forehead creasing slightly at the fact he was blaming himself. "We've both just been incredibly busy and haven't been able to find time. Between you preparing for the second task and trying to keep on top of your standard education, and me trying to keep up with all of my normal school work _and_ make sure that Harry survives this tournament, it's a wonder we've seen one another at all!"

"You're right," agreed Thorfinn, neglecting his food for a moment, "it's a crap situation anyway, but Karkaroff changing some of my timetable around hasn't helped matters."

"Oh, is that why I haven't seen you at many meals?"

"Yeah…" he sighed, beginning to eat once more. Hermione noticed that he was picking at his food slightly, rather than just devouring it without hesitation as he normally would. She couldn't help but wonder if Thorfinn was anxious about the upcoming task; Harry always lost his appetite when he was extremely nervous. "Do you – do you think we can try and find more time for each other?"

"Of course, Thorfinn," she said softly, and he couldn't stop the small twitch of the corners of his lips. Hearing her say his name would never get old, it seemed. "Is everything okay, though? You don't have to explain to me if you're not supposed to say – I just feel as though I should check."

"I'm fine, you've no need to worry about me." And he believed that to be entirely true. He was fine; could be a lot worse, in fact. Hermione seemed to be worrying about more than enough already and as endearing as the thought of her fretting over his wellbeing was, he believed it to be wholly unnecessary.

"Well, if you do need to talk about anything…" she trailed off, "even if it _is_ about the tournament, I promise I won't relay anything through to Harry."

"It's nice of you to offer but I'm good right now." Thorfinn stated, polishing off his meal before Hermione had gotten through half of her own. "I've put so much work into the second task that I don't think I'll be able to fail at this point. How's Harry handling it all though? He's got it cracked, I assume?"

"Ugh," she sighed, "please don't get me started." Thorfinn couldn't help but laugh lightly at her exasperated response.

"Anything you're willing to share?"

"He told me last month – _last_ _month_ – that he almost had the egg solved!" Hermione exclaimed, her tone rising in pitch the more she expanded on the topic. "Honestly, Thorfinn, I can't believe that I left him to it without asking a question or two. And now, just days before the task, we're all pretty much camping out in the library trying to find at least _something_ that will help him get through the task."

"I take it you haven't come across much?"

"Nothing at all," she fumed, "Ron's been starting to declare that it's impossible but I know for a fact that there's answers somewhere. I just can't seem to find them, apparently. I'm beginning to find it rather infuriating to be honest."

"It's a tough one," agreed Thorfinn, "you won't get an argument from me. Obviously, the quickest plan would be a partial transfiguration, but unless Harry's already capable of practicing magic at that level it's a pointless suggestion. I understand that he's the boy who lived and all, but even he wouldn't be able to get that down to a safe level in a few days."

"I don't suppose you could give me a hint about what you're doing?"

"Transfigurations." Thorfinn admitted with a shrug before drinking the last of the pumpkin juice they had been given.

"Plural?" Hermione asked, both curious and surprised.

"Just one would be rather predictable, wouldn't it?"

"Well I'm glad that you have it figured out," she said genuinely, although Thorfinn could still sense the underlying worry she had for Harry. It was moments like these when he had to remind himself that Hermione saw Harry as a brother. Thorfinn knew that a wizard such as himself should not feel threatened by anyone whatsoever, and normally he wouldn't be. It wasn't the fact that that the renowned Harry Potter was involved either; it was simply that Thorfinn actually cared about having Hermione in his life and he wasn't prepared to allow anyone to get in the middle of that. Looking at it rationally, he doubted that it would be Harry Potter that would get in their way. Someone would eventually though, that he was sure of.

The two remained hidden away for the next hour, talking about little things such as the confrontation with Rita Skeeter and their favourite foods. It was a much needed reprieve for the both of them, and Thorfinn could feel himself growing more attached as time went on.

"Will I see you before the task?" Thorfinn asked as they both prepared to leave, deeply hoping that she would say yes.

"We're both going to be incredibly busy." Hermione responded sombrely, and he felt his heart drop slightly at the dismissal. It hurt more than he would've liked to admit, but his mood instantly picked back up again when she took one of his hands and held it with a soft grip. "With the way everything's going, I'll undoubtedly be in the library the night before the task – you could sneak out and come and sit with me for a few minutes? I know it's not much, but-"

"It's enough for me," he grinned, squeezing her hand lightly. Hermione gave him one of those stunning smiles that he always longed to see in return, and before he could even register what was happening she had bounced up onto her toes and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek, ducking out of the portrait immediately after with what could only be described as an inhumane speed. It took a moment for everything to sink in, but the second it did Thorfinn could feel the biggest smile overtake his face.

Thank you Gryffindor courage.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The second Thorfinn Rowle entered the library, he could feel the sharp eyes of Madam Pince fixing him with a stern glare. She'd done this almost every single time he had entered the library since he had arrived at Hogwarts… although the animosity within the glare had increased noticeably after the incident that had involved himself and Hermione. Despite its intentions, the look he was receiving did nothing to faze him and he began to wander around in search of Hermione without acknowledging the hawkeyed Pince.

Thorfinn hadn't been fortunate enough to see Hermione since she had kissed his cheek that day in the kitchens, and he was admittedly incredibly eager to spend time with her once again. Perhaps it sounded a little needy, but he truly did want more from her. He wanted more of her presence, more of their intelligent, playful conversations; he wanted more hugs, more kisses… even if they were just tiny pecks to the cheek. Apparently the gutsy move from Hermione that evening had brought forth a gushing dam of emotion that Thorfinn hadn't known was within him. He'd known for a while that he liked her and that she was special, but the current sentiments were on a whole new level.

Shaking the seriousness of the implications of these developments from his mind, Thorfinn continued to duck between the high bookshelves as he searched for Hermione and her potential group. While he was not able to track her down immediately because his skill in feeling magic wasn't that far developed, Thorfinn found her quicker than he thought he would. Of course, it wasn't Hermione that he heard first, rather it was Ron Weasley's loud whining about the impossible task and Harry Potter's groans of dread; they were rather distinguishable.

Thorfinn tactically slipped into her line of sight and waited a few moments for Hermione to notice his appearance. Naturally, as her nose was deep in a book, it took slightly longer than he'd anticipated. Eventually though, Hermione noticed the presence of the large wizard and promptly excused herself for a few minutes, promising Harry that she was committed to helping him find an answer for the task. Ron grumbled in annoyance and his forehead fell tiredly onto his palm while moving on to the book that Hermione had been working through. She sighed at the sight of the two working through the texts before beginning to meander her way through the bookshelves. Thorfinn automatically followed, walking ridiculously close behind.

When Hermione quickly stopped and turned to face him, she instantly collided face first with the dark wool of the coat covering his chest from the cold. Thorfinn had caught her by the arms of course, though he expected her to step back almost instantly and launch into an instinctive reprimand. Rather than a stern – yet so attractive that it hurt – scolding, Thorfinn was treated to a gradual hug as Hermione slowly wrapped her arms around his midsection and buried her face deeper into the fabric protecting his chest. He couldn't help but smile to himself, thinking that this was a far better outcome than anything he had expected. Thorfinn moved his large arms to thoroughly encompass her shoulders and allowed his chin to drop lazily to the top of her head.

"Thorfinn…" Hermione mumbled into his chest after a little while, only receiving a distracted hum in response. She leaned back from him slightly, looking up into his electric eyes to see them alight with a mix of indefinable emotions. The look he was giving her killed off all of the words bubbling up in her throat; it was so unbelievably intense, but it was also one of the most striking things that she had ever seen. His expression was by no means soft (probably because Thorfinn had no idea how to do such a thing) but Merlin… she could see everything. The admiration; the adoration and the attraction…

And then suddenly out of nowhere Thorfinn mumbled, "Can I kiss you, Hermione?"

Suffice to say, the fact that Thorfinn Rowle of all wizards had asked for consent had made her knees suddenly feel like hot jelly. Hermione knew right then that she wanted him to be her first proper kiss. Before Thorfinn, Hermione had envisioned her first kiss being somewhat of a bland affair with either Ron or Harry (the latter of the two in a best friend kiss kind of way, of course). But now, wrapped up in the arms of Thorfinn and surrounded by his warmth, she knew she didn't want it to be anyone else. And so, with a nod of her head, she gave him permission.

It was probably one of the best decisions of her life so far. Thorfinn was experienced and there was no doubt about that, but he took care to lock their lips slowly and give her an easy opportunity to follow.

It didn't take Hermione long to get the hang of it either; she was the brightest witch of her age after all, and she had always prided herself on being a tremendously quick learner. She felt his smile quirk up against her lips the moment she began to fight back against his soft ministrations, and that was when the kiss really begun. Before long, Hermione's back was slammed up against the bookshelf on her right, making it wobble briefly as the two continued the battle of their tongues. The hesitant first kiss was well in the past at this point and the heat between them wasn't cooling off either. While one of Thorfinn's arms remained curled around her, his other had moved higher so that his calloused palm cupped the side of her neck as his thumb brushed up against her jaw. Hermione, on the other hand, was lightly scratching at the blonde hair on the back of his head with her nails, tugging on the front of Thorfinn's coat with her free hand.

Apparently, this release of pent up emotion had been quietly stewing within the both of them for a while; Thorfinn certainly hadn't expected an insanely heated snog when she had told him they could meet briefly in the library. He definitely wouldn't complain though, especially now that she was pulling his head down towards her neck so that they could both catch a breath before continuing…

Unbeknownst to the two, just a few rows of bookshelves over were Fred and George Weasley. They had just managed to find Harry and Ron after being given the task from Professor McGonagall to track down Harry's two best friends.

"What're you two doing here?" Ron asked.

"Looking for you," said George. "McGonagall wants you, Ron. And Hermione, wherever she's gotten off to – we thought she'd be with you."

"Why?"

"Because she's your best mate, you daft-"

"No," cut in Ron, sounding rather annoyed, "I meant why does McGonagall want us?"

"Dunno… she was looking a bit grim, though," said Fred.

"We're supposed to take you down to her office," said George. "Wouldn't happen to know where Hermione is though, would you Harry?" Harry, who had felt his stomach drop the moment George had started to speak, eventually shrugged his shoulders tiredly.

"She's only been gone for a couple of minutes, she'll probably be back in a bit."

"Yeah," Ron nodded slightly in agreement. "Probably just nipped to the loo or something, didn't she?"

"Well," Fred started, "Harry can pass the message on when Hermione gets back. You better go now though Ron, McGonagall looked proper doom and gloom…"

"Yeah, even Fred and I didn't dare bother with a joke." George finished.

"Good luck tomorrow though mate." Fred said to Harry before the two left with a combined "see ya" accompanied by matching waves. Harry and Ron looked anxiously at each other before Ron left also, leaving Harry alone to fend for himself amongst the books. It was a few minutes before Hermione returned. She looked incredibly flushed, so much so that even Harry was able to pick up on it straightaway. Her focus wasn't on anything in the immediate vicinity either, and so with a sense of curious dread, Harry twisted in his seat and quickly picked up on the fact that Thorfinn Rowle was lurking not too far away fixing his jacket and looking extremely proud of himself. Harry turned back to Hermione, the crossing of his arms catching her attention.

"Really, Hermione?" Harry deadpanned. At least she had the decency to look at him as if she had been caught with her hand in the biscuit box, he thought. "Don't suppose you snogged any answers for breathing underwater out of his mouth while you were at it?" Hermione gasped in surprise, snatching up one of the smaller books nearby and using it to swat Harry's arm.

"Harry James Potter-"

"Hermione _Jean_ Granger," retorted Harry. "I happen to think that – after all the times you've told me off over the years – it's finally my turn!" Hermione harrumphed but knew that she couldn't argue. In fact, she deemed herself lucky that Harry wasn't mad considering the fact that she'd snuck off (or tried to at least) for a quick pull when the task was the next day.

"Oh, come on," scoffed Hermione, playfully rolling her eyes despite the situation. "I know for a fact that you would do exactly the same if Cho came up to you right now-"

"Do what?" Harry sassed. "Started up a round of soft porn library? I don't think so."

"OK, that's too far," said Hermione. She didn't think it was possible for her face to get any hotter, but thanks to Harry, she was reaching unchartered heights of embarrassment. "Since you're suddenly so invested in roasting my romantic affairs, I'll have you know that it was only a bit of kissing – nothing more!"

"If you say so," hummed Harry, and it was obvious that he didn't believe her one bit.

"Where's Ron?" Hermione questioned, finding the perfect opportunity to change the subject. She chanced a glance past Harry and noticed that Thorfinn was still lingering; it would've been weird if not for the fact that he was respectfully admiring every inch of her. He was likely hanging around to see if she could sneak off once more and Hermione wasn't sure she wanted him to leave before she was able.

"Fred and George came over a few minutes ago and told us that Professor McGonagall wanted to see you and Ron as soon as possible-"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione exclaimed, quickly stacking up some of the nearby books, "you really should've started off with that!"

"Not my fault…"

"Never mind," she said. "Ron and I will meet you back in the common room – bring as many of these books as you can, OK?"

"Right…" Harry muttered uneasily as she stood to leave. "Um, so did Rowle actually give you any hints? You know, when his tongue wasn't-"

"Transfiguration." Hermione said quickly. "And we've already established that's not possible in such a short period of time. I'm sorry, Harry, I'll be back as fast as I can." Harry nodded doubtfully as she took off swiftly, watching her leave with Thorfinn automatically following after her. Truth be told, Hermione hadn't noticed Thorfinn's close presence until she'd gotten out into the hallway.

"What's wrong?" Thorfinn called out, catching her carefully by the wrist so that the action would not inflict harm. "Potter didn't say anything nasty to you, did he?"

"Oh, no," she said rather breathlessly, stepping back so that her neck wasn't craned to look up at him. "No, Harry was fine. Professor McGonagall wants to see me though, and I think I'm already late."

"McGonagall?" Thorfinn questioned in surprise. "Now?" Hermione nodded quickly. "Why?"

"Not a clue," she answered, "Harry just said she wanted to see Ron and I immediately." Thorfinn simply glanced down in thought, noticing that somehow their hands had intertwined without him realising. Something seemed off here. Very much so. Why would Professor McGonagall take away Harry's main support network the night before the task? Did she want him to get himself killed? Without Hermione's aid that was likely to be the case; it was clear that she was the brains of the unit, after all. So what in the world was going on? Thorfinn knew there was something… he just couldn't quite place it. "Thorfinn?" Hermione asked quietly, watching his troubled expression carefully. His volatility was no secret to her, and she was desperate to know what had caused him to suddenly become an intense concoction of frustration and confusion.

"Something isn't right," he muttered eventually. Hermione barely managed to catch what he had said, as she was beginning to panic about the extent of her tardiness and also what was going on within the mind of the wizard she'd been in the midst of a snogging session with mere minutes prior.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know…" Thorfinn trailed off, "but I'm escorting you to that office – no ifs or buts about it."

Rather than argue like she felt the urge to do, Hermione just let out a small sigh and tightened her grip on his hand, mustering up all of her strength to pull him along with her. Thorfinn allowed her to drag him through the empty corridors while he was deep in thought; he felt as if he was missing something blatantly obvious, which had evolved into feeling like it was a personal attack on his intelligence.

"Hermione," he spoke quickly, recognising that Professor McGonagall's office was just around the corner.

"What?"

"Can you just wait a minute?" asked Thorfinn, using the grip on her hand to stop her from turning the corner. "Just for a moment? There's something off about this and I need another minute to think."

"Okay, fine, but-"

And then suddenly it clicked.

The song from the egg. It had promised to take something…

"I'm a fucking idiot." Thorfinn stated slowly; Hermione bristled at the language but looked more intrigued than anything. "It's the task – of course it is…" Hermione seemed to catch on rather quickly, thinking over the rhyme that Harry had recited to her countless times as they searched for answers. Despite the situation, a glowing smile crossed her pretty face and the tense muscles in her shoulders softened.

"_I'm_ what you'll sorely miss?" Hermione said, and it certainly came across as though she were fishing for something from him. She hoped that the question would distract him, however, because he looked to be absolutely stewing and she wasn't sure she felt comfortable leaving him alone in such a state. Unfortunately, all Hermione received was a firm nod of the head and she noted that he was uncharacteristically avoiding all eye contact with her. And then suddenly she could feel something. It was in the air, all around them, and it felt like the atmosphere was now a heavier weight.

Was this what Thorfinn had meant when speaking about the volatility of his magic?

"OK, OK, stop!" Hermione demanded resolutely. She proceeded to reach up and cup the sides of his prominent jaw in her hands, pulling his head down so that he had no choice but to look at her. "Look at me – it's fine and everything is _going_ to be fine. Quite frankly, I'm very flattered that I'm what you'll miss most and I'm also extremely confident in your abilities. I'll admit that I'm not tremendously thrilled about being forced into the role of the damsel, but I know for certain that you will come and get me and not let anything or anyone get in your way…"

"I won't let anyone put you in danger for the sake of a friggin' asinine tournament." Thorfinn stated, finally breaking his furious silence. His fists were still curled up in enraged, trembling spheres. "This is absolutely ridiculous Hermione, I can't believe they would think to do this and think that I'd be okay with them using you as some – some pawn-"

"You need to calm down," said Hermione, keeping her hands firm in place, "before something happens, you need to calm down – can you do that for me?"

"I'm trying," he ground out, looking instantly guilty as a result of the tone he had taken with her. Hermione paid no attention to it, simply pulling him further down so that his face was pressed up against her neck. His arms were soon around the middle of her back purely out of instinct and Hermione did her best to take his mind off of things by playing with his short hair. It seemed to be working, too, and Hermione had to silently admit that she felt particularly proud of herself. "I'm sorry." Thorfinn mumbled against the soft skin, doing his best to let flashbacks of their time in the library overtake the anger. "It's just a stupid idea… it's pissing me off…"

"I know."

"Can't you just go back to your common room? You could pretend you missed the message, say you were with me on the ship or something?"

"Thorfinn," she sighed, pulling back from him slightly, "I really should go, if only to hear what's being asked of me."

"No you shouldn't."

"Are you telling me what I can and can't do?" Hermione questioned with a single eyebrow raised. Thorfinn took a step back from her, rubbing his hands up and down his face a few times while he contemplated an answer that wouldn't drop him in the dog house. Everything had been going so well between them in the library… and now they had been reduced to this. All because of that senseless task and the tournament that Thorfinn had wanted no part of in the first place. He could feel any serenity that he'd fought to retain flying out of the window at the thought. Hermione seemed to notice the shift too; she was torn between the prospect of taking a step back, and the idea of pulling him into another hug to calm him down.

"Don't do it," he spoke finally. The tone was utterly emotionless. "I won't let them put you in danger-"

"Actually, I'm going," responded Hermione, turning towards Professor McGonagall's office and moving off in that direction. No one, not even the boy she liked, would dictate her choices. Thorfinn felt the muscles in his body tremble. Then suddenly a harmless coat of shiny silver armour behind him exploded from within, causing each piece to go flying off in different directions. Every segment clattered to the ground noisily, with the helmet even ricocheting off of the adjacent wall before landing on top of the chest plate with a resounding crash. Thorfinn turned to assess the damage, not at all phased as he had caused a plethora of similar destructions during his early years at Durmstrang. Hermione, on the other hand, had rushed back up to him in shock, inhaling a deep breath once she was the sudden state of the coat of armour.

Before Hermione could say anything about what had taken place, Professor McGonagall flew out of her office with tremendous, billowing speed. She scanned the hallway alertly before her strict gaze finally settled on Thorfinn and Hermione at the end of the corridor.

"Just what is going on out here?" Professor McGonagall demanded, sweeping up to the two with a mastered form of stern elegance. She looked over the damages nearby with a sharp eye and after a few quick flicks of her wand, the coat of armour was standing just as proudly as it had been moments prior. Then she turned back to the guilty duo with a threatening look.

"Miss Granger," started McGonagall, addressing her Gryffindor first, "could you possibly explain to me how Mr Weasley of _all_ people has arrived before yourself?" Hermione had to restrain herself from shooting a glance of annoyance towards Thorfinn, feeling that he had distracted her one too many times. "Failing to be punctual is very out of character for you, Miss Granger, and I must admit that I'm disappointed…"

"Oh, lay off." Thorfinn interrupted, waving his hand forward as if he was nonchalantly swatting a fly. Hermione whirled around quickly, looking up at him in alarm the second she had realised the tone was directed towards her head of house. McGonagall's neck drew backwards slightly – which was never a good sign – and an incredibly shrewd expression overtook her ageing face. Oh no, Hermione thought to herself, Thorfinn's really put his foot in his mouth with this one.

"Excuse me?" Professor McGonagall responded unhappily, though that was quite possibly the understatement of the century. The tone of her voice had risen to a level of undeniable pitch and while Hermione looked immensely uncomfortable like the open book she often was, even Thorfinn felt the impact and had to cringe slightly. "Would you like to repeat that comment, Mr Rowle?"

"For the sake of my wellbeing, I'd prefer not to," said Thorfinn, backtracking in spite of his ego. Hermione sighed in relief and placed her hand on his upper arm in a show of support.

"A wise choice." Professor McGonagall surmised. "Now, Mr Rowle, would you care to explain why the pair of you are causing such a ruckus in the hallway?" Thorfinn cleared his throat, hoping to rid it of the current dryness. Apparently a symptom of his uncontrollable moments was a desiccated throat. Lovely. If he could get through this conversation without a mortifying teenage voice crack, he would greatly appreciate it.

"Hermione and I are just having a small _debate_ about something – aren't we, _princess_?" Hermione looked to be incredibly put off by the dramatic use of the term of endearment, and her irritation seemed to spike further once she realised that it had been sarcastic. The grip on his arm tightened in a show of annoyance but it did not disturb Thorfinn at all; he had been through much worse than a slight squeeze, all things considered. "Please accept my apologies in regards to the coat of armour, Professor McGonagall…" Hermione tensed; the forced pureblood tone was back in full force. "I simply let my emotions overcome me for a brief moment and I gave the armour a little shove. Sometimes I forget my strength – I assure you it won't happen again."

"I hope not, Mr Rowle," said McGonagall. "If it does, I will not be as forgiving."

"We understand, Professor." Hermione replied quickly.

"Now," carried on McGonagall, her tone shifting slightly to one of more care. The pair were both surprised by the quick change but this version of the transfiguration teacher was definitely preferred. Though neither of them realised it at the time, the change in Minerva McGonagall was due to the fact that she was gradually finding it in her to support Hermione's choice of suitor. She would have condemned the pairing at the start of the school year and it was undoubtedly unexpected… but now, months on, she actually found herself routing for the unlikely duo. "What in Merlin's name caused you to bicker like an old married couple in the corridor?" Thorfinn attempted to conceal a flinch at the insinuation and Hermione's hand quickly dropped from his arm.

"Thorfinn's under the impression than I'm going to be taken as a hostage for the task, so he's kicking off about me being in unnecessary danger."

"That's the abridged version," sniped Thorfinn, making Hermione scrunch up her face in a show of distaste.

"Unfortunately he is not wrong, Miss Granger," McGonagall said with a look of sympathy, "everyone who is to be a hostage for the champions tomorrow has gathered in my office-"

"Hang on," said Thorfinn, cutting in rather rudely. His irritation was gaining traction once more and he couldn't find it in him to care for social decorum. If Karkaroff heard him now, he'd have his head. "Are you saying Hermione doesn't even have a choice? That she has to be taken for the task whether she likes it or not?"

"It is out of my hands, Rowle," she responded. "Since you do not seem to associate with any of your peers unless absolutely necessary, Miss Granger is the only choice."

"Thorfinn," sighed Hermione, watching him calmly, "you're a brilliant wizard – I trust you to keep me safe." He looked at her – dead in the eye – and she took note of the fact that he appeared to be slightly pained by her giving in to the higher powers. She realised that he didn't even appear to be that angry anymore, rather disheartened by the entire situation. It made Hermione hurt a little too.

"I'll give you both a moment." Professor McGonagall told the two, moving back in the direction of her office. "Miss Granger!" she called out from down the corridor, "I expect you to be in my office within the next five minutes. And you are not off the hook either, Mr Rowle – tea and biscuits in my office tomorrow evening, and that is not a request!"

"Tea and biscuits with Professor McGonagall?" Hermione groaned. "You don't know how lucky you are, honestly. When you spoke back to her I thought she was going to crucify the both of us!"

"I wouldn't have let that happen," he chuckled. "But now that she's gone…" Hermione felt a sudden rush of dread overcome her once she noticed a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, and found herself unable to escape when he speedily swooped her up by the bottom of her thighs and flung her over his shoulder.

"Merlin, Thorfinn!" she cursed. "Put me down right now or I swear-"

"Or you swear what?" he teased, turning in circles and making her grip tighten on the thick fabric covering his back. She knew he wouldn't drop her, but when he suddenly bent his knees and jumped back up she loathed to admit she let out the most girly squeal. Honestly, Lavender Brown probably would have praised her and that was such an abhorrent thought.

"Thorfinn, I will set your hair on fire!"

"Sound," he retorted, "always thought I'd be able to pull off a skinhead."

"Then I'll hex your shoes so they're glued to the floor!" threatened Hermione. Unfortunately, the laugh that escaped her when he spun her around again utterly invalidated the cautioning.

"I don't happen to like this pair much anyway, you know-"

"Fine – I'll hex your nose!"

"Great." Thorfinn said simply. "It hasn't been the same since it was broken when I was a kid so do your worst."

"Thorfinn Rowle, you are absolutely and utterly incorrigible!" Hermione exclaimed before suddenly comprehending that she had been talking pretty much directly at his rear for the entirety of the conversation. That thought alone made her flush slightly, but it was nothing compared to the blushing explosion when she realised that he must have been doing the same. Well, now she definitely felt the need to get down. But what would break his resolve? Perhaps…

"Put me down or I won't kiss you for the next six weeks!"

Hermione was on the floor immediately. She had to admit, she was feeling awfully proud of herself for coming up with that one. It felt fantastic to have two feet on the ground and Thorfinn Rowle wrapped around her finger.

"All right, that was harsh and you know it," accused Thorfinn, but Hermione simply laughed it off. "Laugh all you want, just know that I'm cashing in on my privileges whenever I can now because apparently you're trigger happy in taking them away."

Then suddenly his lips were against hers again and it was like the disagreement had never happened following the snogging in the library. They were right back where they left off and Thorfinn couldn't be more thrilled at the thought; a part of him was worried that he'd scared her off in his brief moment of weakness, and he knew that he would have to work on avoiding a loss of control with Hermione around. Nevertheless, he was incredibly happy for now. Kissing Hermione didn't feel like the kisses he'd shared with other witches in the past. It felt like less of an obligation and more like a steamy outpour of feelings from the both of them. At this point, he knew it would be too easy to get lost every time she offered him the smallest of physical affections. Even so, he allowed himself to succumb to the enjoyment and emotion completely…

Neither of them noticed Professor McGonagall reappear in the corridor, fed up of waiting for Hermione to join the gathering. The stern witch stood for a moment, folding her arms while allowing herself a small smile at the fact that they had very literally (too literally, for her taste) kissed and made up. McGonagall then cleared her throat loudly, causing Hermione to jump out of her skin while Thorfinn rolled his eyes at the interruption.

"You've had much more than a moment, Miss Granger," informed McGonagall. Hermione looked beyond mortified as she gave Thorfinn one last hug, whispering a few quick words of encouragement into his ear before breaking away and disappearing inside Professor McGonagall's office. Before McGonagall departed too, she offered him an encouraging nod. "Tea tomorrow," she reminded him, "don't forget."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Hermione Granger gasped desperately for air, feeling understandably disoriented as she was helped up onto a small raft by-

What in the world was THAT?

The only thing that restrained Hermione's overwhelming desire to scream was her jaw being locked by the freezing cold. This was her fourth year of schooling within the magical community. By now, she believed she had seen everything there was to see. After all, she had seen a hippogriff, dragons, even technically been exposed to a basilisk for crying out loud. But this…

While Hermione was not able to comprehend such a sight at the time, the creature before her turned out to be a large shachihoko. The animal was a native of magical areas of Japan and the bizarre combination of the head of a tiger and the body of a carp had left those spectating in a stunned silence. It was certainly a fierce looking creature, by far more intimidating than a great white shark. The scales were a dark, midnight purple, and once in the light of day they also had the most stunning iridescence under the sheen of water. A classic silver thinly lined the scales, fins, and bordered the human-like eyes. For Hermione, the eyes soon gave away that the creature was Thorfinn; it possessed the very same electric blue eyes that Hermione utterly adored. The gigantic fangs of the creature snapped a couple of times and within moments the shachihoko began to shrink.

Once the creature had disappeared under the water entirely Hermione froze for a moment, only to feel a wave of relief wash over her when Thorfinn's blonde head exploded out of the murky lake. She noticed immediately how worn out he looked, reaching out a shaking arm to help him as he pulled himself up onto the transfigured raft.

"Hi," said Thorfinn, grinning tiredly. "Miss me?" Hermione's reaction was an attempt at a scoff due to how bad the cold was affecting her. She really wished that she had a witty remark to throw back at him, but couldn't find the energy to muster one up as he used short blasts of magic to send them in the direct route of an exceptionally anxious Madam Pomfrey. Once they reached land, Thorfinn immediately moved to help Hermione to her feet and promptly handed her off to Madam Pomfrey. He glanced around, taking note of the fact that Fleur Delacour was wrapped up and absolutely beside herself; there was no sign of her hostage, signalling to Thorfinn that she had been unable to rescue the small girl at the bottom of the lake. Not that that was anything to worry about, considering the fact that Harry Potter was still loitering rather than prioritising his one hostage.

Igor Karkaroff soon barrelled over, attempting to pull Thorfinn over towards his Durmstrang peers. Unfortunately, even with such a magnificent transfiguration, Cedric Diggory had still beaten Thorfinn to the surface by a measly two minutes with the use of a boring bubble-head charm. This meant that Karkaroff definitely was not as satisfied as he could have been, which was why Thorfinn felt somewhat of a sense of relief when Madam Pomfrey popped up out of nowhere and demanded to examine him before he re-joined his classmates.

"Sit, please, Mr Rowle," ordered Madam Pomfrey, forcing him down beside Hermione. She was wrapped up in a thick blanket and most of the colour had returned to her cheeks. All in all, Hermione was looking much better. The same couldn't be said for Thorfinn. He had felt an inconceivable sense of light-headedness from the moment he was back on his own feet. Everything around him felt like it was swaying, and small white spots had been exploding across his vision ever since Karkaroff had knocked him on the back in commendation. The nausea had come on out of nowhere too; he dropped his head between his knees, bringing his hands up to the back of his neck while he groaned.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione called out urgently. Despite his current struggle and inability to register where exactly the voice was coming from, Thorfinn still felt the panic the tone contained. Madam Pomfrey – who had only turned her back for a quick moment in order to grab a potion that would warm him up – turned with tremendous speed and rushed over to crouch next to him.

"Mr Rowle," she said firmly, "you must tell me what's wrong."

"Everything's spinning," he moaned in response, barely noticing when Hermione placed a compassionate hand on his bare back, brushing away what looked to be a bug in the process. Madam Pomfrey rushed off to grab a potion she deemed worthy, leaving Hermione to worriedly watch over him. She theorized that his current state was either a reaction to the intense cold or his body's response to such an intense strain on his magical reserves. More than likely it was both.

"Mr Rowle," said Madam Pomfrey, stopping in front of him with a bottle of who knows what. It was a putrid yellow in colour and Hermione couldn't help but cringe at the thought of the taste. Thorfinn looked up slowly; there wasn't much of an expression on his face but his eyes were glazed and unfocused. Just what had he managed to do to himself? "You must drink all of this, do you understand?" Thorfinn said nothing; just took the bottle, popped the brown cork, and chugged it all down without pause. He coughed a few times once it was all down and Hermione worried that he was going to end up choking on whatever vile flavour he'd consumed. Luckily, he didn't. Instead, Thorfinn returned to his earlier position and Hermione rubbed simple, supportive circles on his back… purposefully ignoring the strange bumps and scars that littered his skin.

* * *

"Have a seat, Mr Rowle," said Professor McGonagall, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. The table itself had been mostly cleared, leaving space for a wide silver tray that held a classic selection. There were pots of both tea and coffee, as well as a jar containing cubes of both brown and white sugar. Alongside them were cups with their matching saucers, a couple of teaspoons, an obtuse jug of milk, and a plate with a mix of biscuits. Professor McGonagall had outdone herself. "Coffee or tea?" she asked as she poured tea into the nearest cup.

"Coffee, please," he answered, sitting down and immediately resorting to resting his right ankle on his left knee. After the last twenty four hours, he'd sit with whatever posture he bloody well fancied. His wardrobe had also taken a hit too, after all. Why not go for the double and sit rudely in front of one of the strictest teachers Hogwarts had to offer? Strangely enough, she didn't seem to have noticed his lacking decorum. Or perhaps she had and simply refused to acknowledge the fact that he was slouching back in the chair while dressed in a bland black sweatshirt and joggers in a matching colour.

"Sugar?" Professor McGonagall questioned once she had poured him a coffee.

"Just the one," he said quietly.

"Milk?"

"Only a little bit." Thorfinn replied, accepting the cup and saucer that was passed over to him moments after. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mr Rowle," said McGonagall, offering him the smallest of smiles. "By all means, help yourself to a couple of biscuits – Madam Pomfrey mentioned you had a rather rough go of it after the task."

"I think that was just my magic saying please don't do that again," responded Thorfinn as he observed the selection of biscuits. All of the classics were there: custard creams and plain digestives and chocolate bourbons, oh my! There were also a couple of shortbread biscuits and gingersnaps; Thorfinn was tempted to take the whole plate with him once the meeting was over. He swiped up a custard cream as Professor McGonagall sipped her tea and it was like posting a letter. The biscuit was small enough to demolish in one go and he hadn't had one in years. It tasted just as good as he remembered, too.

"Well," started off the transfiguration teacher, "if you don't mind, Mr Rowle, I was hoping to discuss a couple of matters with you. You may speak as frankly as you like of course, seeing as you are not technically my student as you so _politely_ pointed out a while ago." Thorfinn almost choked on his steaming coffee at the masterfully sly dig. He managed to right himself quickly, but he didn't miss the tiny smirk of satisfaction that briefly crossed Professor McGonagall's usual stone face.

"By all means," he said, clearing his throat and trying his best to be smooth.

"Yourself and Miss Granger," stated McGonagall. Thorfinn fought the urge to sigh; if this woman (of all people) was going to try and give him the infamous 'talk', he was grabbing that plate of biscuits and bolting out of the office. "Would you say that what the two of you have is serious?"

"Why?" Thorfinn responded defensively.

"I do not mean to offend you, Mr Rowle. I'm merely asking out of both curiosity and concern for the both of you."

"Fine," he resigned, placing his coffee on the desk. "I enjoy her company – and that's saying a lot for me, because I don't like people. I have no friends back at Durmstrang, only acquaintances that have developed a respect for my stature as a man and my skill as a wizard. Hermione's something new for me, you see. I haven't ever liked anyone as much as I like her."

"That's a bold proclamation," said Professor McGonagall following a brief silence, looking over his scruffy appearance with an appraising eye. "I appreciate you being honest with me Mr Rowle, I understand this must be somewhat of an uncomfortable topic for you to discuss with me. That being said, I assume Miss Granger is already your girlfriend?"

"We haven't labelled anything yet but I imagine that it's going in that direction."

"You aren't a couple?" Professor McGonagall questioned, reeling back in shock. Thorfinn noted that she looked completely and utterly scandalised in response to his admission. "But the two of you in the corridor… surely that is considered to be most improper? I'd have thought a young man coming from both the Durmstrang Institute and a family such as yours would have approached this situation with a deep rooted respect for the process of courting. Now I see, however, that that is not the case at all. I'm sure Professor Karkaroff has had a multitude of stern words-"

"A family such as mine?" Thorfinn cut in, going back to the insinuation that had unsettled him the most. It was clear that she was referencing the invisible rulebook of official pureblood guidelines. And, while it was not coming across in a malicious way, Thorfinn still hated the fact that such archaic nonsense was expected of him. Karkaroff had tried instilling a plethora of bigoted values into his young mind the minute he had arrived at Durmstrang, though that plan hadn't gone too well. While Thorfinn loathed muggles (which allowed him to pass as a model pureblood) as a result of his own experiences, other prejudiced views did not sink in as easily. He was by no means a traditional man, but how could he be when he was ripped from his society as a child and left to the rabid dogs?

"Mr Rowle, you must understand that there are – and will continue to be – a lot of eyes on you." Professor McGonagall spoke up as he continued to stew. "I encourage you to follow the path that you have set yourself upon, don't get me wrong. Just be aware of the potential ramifications, is what I am trying to say. From what I can gather, you are teetering on a very thin line at this moment in time, and it is only a matter of time before the vultures begin to descend on the magically proficient heir of a notorious family."

"I understand," he said humbly, "and I accept the fact that being a pureblood comes with setbacks as well as perks. But I don't want a stupid amount of homes and some bloody intolerable wife that pops out bratty kids like nobody's business and whines when the house elf undercooks the carrots. That is not – and has never, ever been – the life that I want and the life that I will accept. If I have to spend my life with someone, it's going to be someone like Hermione. Hopefully, it may one day actually _be_ Hermione, because I don't think there's many witches out there that come close to the person that she is. Who her parents are isn't gonna change how much I respect her, and that won't waiver even when certain _families_ decide that who _I_ associate with dictates their opinion of the man that I am."

As Thorfinn tried to settle himself down and consume some coffee, Professor McGonagall merely looked at him in concern. It wouldn't be easy for him. Thorfinn was a direct descendent of a family of dark, malevolent wizards and he happened to be the only heir. This wouldn't be another Sirius Black situation, with a simple disownment and the heir status being passed down. No, it would be pandemonium. And if the Lestranges were to catch wind of the young Rowle being traitorous towards their ideals… he'd be dead if they were not in Azkaban, Professor McGonagall was sure. After all, from what she understood the Lestrange family had always been close to the Rowles. They would certainly not take kindly to Thorfinn's pursuit of a witch with muggle heritage.

"Professor?" Thorfinn asked coolly, snapping her out of her deep, worrisome thoughts. "You are aware that I was not raised amongst wizards, aren't you?"

The statement made it all click into place. Everything that he had said about Hermione Granger and the life that he wanted for himself… his carrying himself like an aristocrat while amongst strangers and having perfected a forced tone for it… his knowledge of where he stood in society and his somewhat progressive view… it all made sense now.

"From what I have heard, Mr Rowle, you were not with your parents when they resisted capture and fought to their death. Rather, you were coined the missing heir, though those with knowledge of allegiances presume you were left with the Lestrange family." Professor McGonagall almost wanted to shiver at the thought. Who in their right mind would leave a small child in the care of Bellatrix Lestrange?

"Karkaroff confirmed that I was," replied Thorfinn, "apparently death eaters are partial to a good gossip."

"So he took you in following the capture of the Lestranges?" McGonagall pressed. Though it was important to remain tactful, she was looking forward to the mystery finally being unravelled. The palaver of a missing pureblood child had had a lot of people talking at the time but the issue had never been resolved. Instead, a lot of people simply seemed to forget about what had happened as times progressed. That was hardly unexpected, however, as Thorfinn had been deemed the spawn of followers of the fallen Dark Lord.

"No, Karkaroff only picked me up a little bit before I was fit to start my first year at Durmstrang."

"But that would create a huge gap in your timeline," she said in confusion, "and there would be years of your life unaccounted for. Were you passed off to another family? Perhaps one with ties to other parts of Europe?"

"I was stranded in hell." Thorfinn shrugged. "Left to rot with the muggles." Professor McGonagall gasped, then her lips dropped into a firm line and her hand moved to cover her heart. He wasn't sure if she was worked up about his phrasing regarding the muggle world or what had been done to him.

"Surely the Lestranges of all people would not leave you in the presence of muggles? That thought alone is absolutely absurd…"

"It wasn't the Lestranges," he clarified, "it was the people who managed to catch the Lestranges. And honestly, looking back at everything that went on, I genuinely think that I'd have had a better upbringing with the people that had known my parents. Muggles can be scum of the earth – I haven't returned to their world since Karkaroff came and got me out. He and I will never be on the same page, but I do respect what he did for me, even if it was to make sure no one else got to me first."

"I'm sorry that you had to go through whatever you did, Mr Rowle, however I very much doubt that the Lestranges were fit to raise a child even _before_ their Azkaban tenure. I hope you understand that if you had been left with any member of the Lestrange family, you would not be the young man sitting before me today. I'm sure you do not want to hear this, but perhaps the saying 'everything happens for a reason' applies here…"

"When the reason is pure spite being projected onto a child?" scoffed Thorfinn. "Why should I be made to suffer for the actions of my dead family?"

"You shouldn't have been forced into whatever situation you found yourself in, I agree," stated Professor McGonagall. She allowed a brief silence to settle as she poured herself another tea before continuing. "But I also believe you should consider how your circumstances moulded you as a wizard and – more importantly – as a person. Because if you had been raised by the Lestrange family or a similar sort, I very much doubt that your beliefs would be as progressive as they are today. While your stance on muggles is slightly disconcerting, your dedication to Miss Granger is something else entirely… I like you for her, Rowle, and as I learn more about the wizard beneath the unforthcoming exterior, I find myself seeing that she is a good match for you also."

"She's everything I need." Thorfinn said simply in agreement.

"That is very good to hear – just be aware that our society will not make it easy on the both of you. Though I do doubt that the brightest witch of her age and a strong-willed wizard such as yourself would allow interference in such private matters…" Thorfinn nodded firmly, believing strongly in Professor McGonagall's statements. What he shared with Hermione would not remain a honeymoon forever, and he was aware of some of the upcoming realities he would face once people came to realise that it was not merely a rebellious fling. "Now, moving on from Miss Granger somewhat," McGonagall continued. "Will you be returning to where the Durmstrang Institute is located following the tournament?"

"That is my intention, yes."

"And have you taken time to consider your other options?" she asked plainly.

"I wasn't aware I had any." Thorfinn responded in a similar tone. While he was now privy to the details of the Rowle properties, he still had one more year of schooling and final exams to undertake, meaning he'd have to spend one more year at Durmstrang before potentially moving back to the United Kingdom. The thought of moving on from his familiar dormitory at Durmstrang was certainly a daunting thought for Thorfinn. However, while it would have been an absolutely unthinkable thought at the start of September, the idea of moving into his own space did cause a lot less pain now that he had experienced a new place. The fact that Karkaroff had been right yet again was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In order to combat such taste, Thorfinn reached for a chocolate bourbon.

"Professor Dumbledore and I would be happy to have you if you found yourself wanting to move back home," explained Professor McGonagall. "Obviously, there would be different content for you to look over in some subjects, but I am sure you would face the task head on and leave school with respectable grades."

"I'm not sure, professor," said Thorfinn. "It just seems like it'd be more work for lesser grades."

"Of course, Mr Rowle, I understand your concerns. Just remember that the offer remains open – I'm sure Miss Granger would be delighted to have you around for another year."

"Hey, that's sneaky!" Thorfinn accused in a joking manner, playfully waving a finger at the notoriously strict member of Hogwarts' faculty. Professor McGonagall simply chuckled and did not bother to deny the allegation. She knew that Thorfinn knew full well what she had been getting at. Moving to the school of the witch he massively fancied so that he could see her almost every day? Well, when the idea was put like that it should have been a no brainer. But something still made him hesitate, and he told himself that he'd at least go back to Durmstrang for the start of the summer. That way, he would be leaving no door unopened.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Just a warning that I'm dropping in a small OC here. While I'm trying to avoid OCs as much as possible at the moment because I'm not keen on having hundreds of random characters flying about, I was in need of a Durmstrang student that wasn't Krum or Poliakoff. So if, after reading and assessing the character, you would like to see more of said OC let me know. I'd also like to apologise in advance for likely butchering all things Norwegian. I pride myself on this story being VERY British in terms of dialect and the like because I'm familiar with it... unfortunately, all other accents will likely be horrendous, sorry.

Chapter 14

"Hey, big man!" a Norwegian accent called out from just outside of Thorfinn's room, disrupting his quiet time to himself. He immediately scowled at the interruption before moving to the door with a couple of aggressive strides. Thorfinn flung the door open with unnecessary force and tensed when he realised just who had been calling for his attention. Standing before him was one of the only young women that Karkaroff had allowed on the trip, and Thorfinn was quite familiar with her.

Standing with one hand on her hip and a magazine dangling in the other was the one and only Malin Stenberg, a halfblood witch who had been raised by a conservative family in the south of Norway. Although she was not christened with a pureblood status as a result of her father being muggleborn, Malin was by far one of the most popular seventh year students and it was not hard to guess why. Malin had been a sophisticated beauty for as long as Thorfinn remembered; the combination of flowing dark hair, unblemished porcelain skin, and a perfected hourglass figure had had younger boys tripping over their feet throughout the years. She also had incredibly friendly ocean eyes and a fondness for fashion, which meant that she was often able to get along with the girls as well as the starving boys.

"Malin," Thorfinn stated bluntly in greeting, folding his arms and resting his right shoulder on the doorframe. Luckily for his neck, Malin was a relatively tall five foot eight so he didn't have to hunch slightly to show that he was offering full attention. "Didn't we agree to never speak to each other again after we slept together and you realised after that you were-"

"Shut up!" Malin hissed, glancing around the ship to see if anyone had heard his comment. "Han er en drittsekk…" she cursed under her breath, making Thorfinn's eyebrow flinch in recognition.

"Did you just call me a shitbag?" he asked, obvious amusement lacing his tone.

"Vell you are one!" exclaimed Malin. "You cannot go around saying fings like dat."

"You act like it would be more humiliating for you than it would be for me if people found out. You do realise that I would get the abuse? After all, it's not often that I f-"

"Do not finish dat sentence, Rowle! It is clear what you vere going to say, and dat is very insulting."

"Sorry," muttered Thorfinn, having the decency to look chastised. "You know I'm only joking."

"Vell, if you are going to joke, den at least make it funny next time."

"OK, OK, I didn't open this door so that you could attack me for absolutely no reason whatsoever. In fact, you actually ruined my time of relaxation and _peace_, so you better have a good reason for bothering me, Malin – you know how much I hate being bothered, and if it were anyone but you they'd already be flat on their arse."

"_Alvays_ such a charmer, Rowle. I regret de day I let you in my bed," she sniped. "Have you read dis?" Malin asked simply, appearing to struggle to find a way to expand her sentence in English. Rather than continuing to flounder, she held up the magazine and inadvertently showed off her pristine crimson fingernails.

"Of course I haven't," scoffed Thorfinn, "why on earth would I?"

"Do not look at me like dat," muttered Malin. "I only read it to help my English… stop giving me dat look, Rowle, you are not very attractive ven you are on your high horse." Thorfinn couldn't help but laugh for a second, holding his hands up in surrender once a most irritated expression settled on Malin's gorgeous face. "You are going to be hit off it anyvay ven you read dis."

"Give it here, then," grumbled Thorfinn, taking the copy of Witch Weekly from her and flicking through the pages. His eyes quickly settled on a colour photograph of Harry Potter and he couldn't help but be drawn towards the related article.

_HARRY POTTER'S SECRET HEARTACHE:_

_A boy like no other, perhaps – yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, _writes Rita Skeeter. _Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, muggleborn Hermione Granger._

"Steady girlfriend? That's garbage," snapped Thorfinn. "What are you giving me this shite for?" he asked Malin as he felt his annoyance begin to rise. There seemed to be more to the article, but he was pondering whether or not ignorance would be the way to go in this situation.

"Dere is more, Rowle," said Malin, doing well to look nonchalant in the face of a sharp glare. "I fink it is best if you read it all… I know ve are not friends and do not know each odder well, but I am uh…"

"Concerned? Worried?"

"Yes, dat, de first one," she confirmed with a click of her fingers. "My pappa is muggleborn – my moder had it bad ven she married him. Same fing here, no?" Thorfinn sighed angrily through his nose and looked back down at the article.

_Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss. Miss Granger, a plain-_

"Plain?" Thorfinn fumed.

_-but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous and powerful wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Apparently, Miss Granger has been hiding her interest in older men while settling for poor Harry. Now, this reporter can exclusively divulge that the muggleborn has been discreetly spending time with her Yule Ball date, Durmstrang champion and future lord, the long-lost Thorfinn Rowle (more to come on the missing heir). Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. While not much can be said about the true extent of her relationship with the pureblood wizard, Miss Granger was notably deemed what Mr Rowle would miss most for the recent Triwizard Tournament task. _

"How?" he muttered. "I don't understand how she could have known. Barely anyone has seen us together in a suggestive way outside of the task and the ball…" There was certainly something off here; the only person who had caught them in the act so far was Professor McGonagall, and she was definitely not the type to gossip.

_However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms which have captured these unfortunate boys' interest. 'She's really ugly,' says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth year student, 'but she'd be well up to making a love potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it – a handsome, pureblood wizard like Rowle wouldn't look her way, otherwise.' Love potions are of course banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate. _

"Next page," prompted Malin, who suddenly looked far more reserved. Thorfinn did his best to try and tone down the outward force of his aggravation, feeling slightly guilty for unsettling someone who had tried to help him with pure intentions. He flicked over the page and found a small column headed by an image of himself. The photo had been from the champion photoshoot, and was cropped so that the only other thing to be seen was the very top of Fleur Delacour's head. Thorfinn had to hand it to Rita Skeeter – she'd picked a good photo, at least. The picture showed a neutral, somewhat smouldering expression, and his broad shoulders had not been accidentally cut out of the slim frame of the portrait image.

_THE MISSING HEIR RETURNS:_

_Years ago, Thorfinn Rowle disappeared from our society without a trace, _writes Rita Skeeter. _Having disappeared at a tender age, the sole heir was presumed to be dead by many, though it can now be confirmed officially that that dreadful fate was not the case and that the young man is available. Wizarding Britain has welcomed back a most eligible bachelor, a mountain of a young man with tremendous magical prowess and an absolutely phenomenal jawline. For those wondering, this reporter can confirm that the future lord is currently single and does not appear to have a future marriage arranged. While there has been an unfortunate hiccup with muggleborn Hermione Granger, the suspected involvement of love potions should allow him a pass._

"Do I really have a phenomenal jawline?" Thorfinn questioned, glancing up at Malin as she watched his reactions carefully. The witch simply rolled her eyes at the question, refusing to inflate his ego further.

'_My father says Rowle will be entitled to a relatively large portfolio,' says Draco Malfoy, fourth year student and heir of the respected Malfoy family. Other students also had similar comments on the matter, proving that the missing heir will be eligible to retrieve a vast majority of family heirlooms upon his official return to Britain. Good looks, good with a wand, has a vault filled with treasures… better get in there fast my fellow witches, otherwise a plain muggleborn may snatch him up…_

"Plain?" he fumed for a second time. "What's she banging on about? Friggin' plain… Hermione is anything but plain…"

"So dere is no love potion den?" Malin asked, taking back her magazine. The look of irritation that Thorfinn shot in her direction soon answered that question. "I fought so, you know? You are too smart for dat, big man. So…" she trailed off, looking down at the article after forgetting Hermione's name, "she is your lady? You like dis Miss Granger?"

"Yeah," muttered Thorfinn, looking down at his feet. This wasn't a very comfortable topic for him to discuss. "I know it's early days but I can already tell that she's different from everyone I've met… honestly, a part of me hopes she's going to be _the_ lady one day."

"You found your Lady Rowle?" she responded. "You are serious about dis girl, not like you vere wiv de odders. I am happy for you."

"Thanks?"

"You are welcome," said Malin before she left him alone. Thorfinn's mind was going one hundred miles a minute and he appreciated being left to his own devices. There were so many things to think about. Would this mean witches would start harassing him now? Like they did with Viktor? Because that would be absolutely horrifying and the results would be even more so. And what did Hermione think about all of this? Skeeter had been relatively kind to him all things considered, but had also gone as far as to paint the witch he liked as a villain. It was straight up character assassination.

As Thorfinn continued to think through a multitude of extreme scenarios, he almost missed Karkaroff rushing by, fiddling with the left sleeve of his robe. It was a little bit odd and it preoccupied Thorfinn for a brief moment; Karkaroff had become increasingly distracted as the year had gone on, but now he looked like he was on the verge of an outright panic. Clearly, something was not right here either. But things not being right was becoming too common of a theme in his life for him to bother investigating further.

Instead, Thorfinn retreated back to his room, throwing himself back down onto his bed before grabbing his dark arts textbook.

* * *

A week later and Thorfinn was really beginning to _loathe_ Rita Skeeter with every fibre of his being. Not only had his time with Hermione a few days ago been ruined by her being both furious and upset over all of her hate mail, but he was also receiving even more stares than usual and now girls were actually trying to _approach_ him, god forbid. Back at Durmstrang, people knew not to bother Thorfinn unless he was looking particularly friendly on the day. Hogwarts, however, had no such etiquette. Eventually he had just given up on going up to the castle, eating most of his meals on the ship and committing himself to his rigorous training schedule.

Luckily, the Easter holidays were fast approaching. Thorfinn deeply hoped that it would serve as a distraction and there would somehow be a new big scandal for Rita Skeeter to write about by the time the summer term began. The Easter break would also mean that he and Hermione could spend more time together, and even though he'd probably be looking over his shoulder half of the time for a potential spy, he still looked forward to her company and potentially more of her affection. Thorfinn was unbelievably eager for a repeat of what had happened in the library sometime soon; the Witch Weekly article had interrupted their trajectory slightly and he knew he had to make an effort to set that right.

But how could he? Their usual dates were having meals hidden away in the Hogwarts kitchens, sitting together quietly in the library while Thorfinn smirked at Hermione and tried to knock her concentration… and that was about it. It simply could not be helped. They were limited to the castle, so there was not much else Thorfinn could do in terms of finding an activity for the two of them. He was lucky that their capacity for conversation seemed endless; it was probably the only reason they hadn't gotten bored of each other. Well… that was a lie. Thorfinn would never grow tired of the kisses like the ones in the library, either.

Nevertheless, he needed to take action. Do _something_. Anything. The last thing Thorfinn wanted was for things to fizzle out between the two of them. But what options did he have? They were limited to the Hogwarts grounds and even if he did happen to come up with a new date outside of the castle, he was unfamiliar with magical Britain and had no desire at all to make use of the muggle world. Of course, if he was to manage to find a place away from the castle they'd be less likely to be accompanied by a spy of some sort. Saying that the Rita Skeeter situation had made him even more on edge than usual was a slight understatement.

This growing issue managed to trouble Thorfinn for days on end, and it was an unlikely occurrence that served as the inspiration he had so desperately needed. Said occurrence was an unlikely interaction with Luna Lovegood. Thorfinn had been jogging down by the lake in nothing more than black shorts and trainers when he noticed her walking absentmindedly nearby. While the initial instinct had been to ignore the girl since people enjoying fresh air had been more common once March had rolled around, he couldn't help but notice something rather odd when he stopped to gulp down some water. The witch was wearing no shoes. Despite her lack of footwear, Luna had a serene expression and seemed to be strolling with a purposefully slow pace.

The sight was so bizarre that Thorfinn couldn't help himself. Instead of continuing his usual routes around the lake, he jogged up towards the path that Luna was ambling along and slowed his pace slightly so that he was trotting beside her.

"Hello again," said Luna, her airy tone not as light as it had been the last time he had spoken with her. "Lovely day, isn't it?" she asked while observing the grounds. Thorfinn took a moment to look around also, noting that it was a particularly nice day. Since arriving in Scotland, he had mainly seen grey skies and countless showers of pelting rain; there was often a damp smell in the air as a result, but now that was not the case. Rather, glowing rays from the low morning sun were slowly melting the dew on the grass, and the wind was only a cool breeze instead of the usual sharp gusts. The air felt lighter than it had been as well; for some reason, the skin of Thorfinn's face felt a lot cleaner as a result.

"It is," Thorfinn said finally in agreement, slowing to a walk beside Luna. He looked her over carefully, noticing that her wand was tucked behind her left ear and that there were no signs of her having socks or any type of shoe in her possession. "So… everything all right?"

"Mostly," hummed Luna, "although I do suspect that there has been an increasing infestation of nargles as of late."

"Nargles?"

"Yes," she confirmed, looking down at her bare feet for a moment. "Hogwarts always has a few nargles lingering, but there seem to be more than usual this year. They've taken all of my shoes and started stealing my socks, you know? They're very mischievous things, nargles."

"I'll take your word for it," said Thorfinn, glancing over at her doubtfully when she went back to admiring the environment. While he had absolutely no idea what a nargle was or if it even happened to exist, he very much doubted that such creature would be responsible for missing shoes inside Hogwarts. Thorfinn had quickly cottoned on to the fact that Luna Lovegood was filled to the brim with eccentricities and he knew what it was like to be treated differently for not fitting in with what was deemed normal. Obviously there were no nargles at work here, rather, there were cruel students that felt the need to interfere in Luna's life and make it difficult for no apparent reason.

Hiding items was not a foreign concept to Thorfinn. In fact, it had been done to him once also.

"Luna," he started carefully, "are you sure it isn't other people hiding your things?" Luna's expression clouded over for a brief moment and Thorfinn immediately worried that he had overstepped. While he could be rather tactless and often did it purposefully, he was genuine on this occasion and did not want to upset the girl. "Look, I'm not judging if it is. Some of the kids I grew up around did it to me a few times – eventually I got so livid about what little I had being taken that my magic went off."

"It exploded?" Luna questioned curiously, looking up at him with fantastically wide eyes.

"No, though I can do that now when something angers me," he admitted. "No, it was more like my magic was getting payback. All of my things that were hidden or stolen suddenly flew back to me all at once – it was as if I'd just gone 'accio everything'. But then not long after the boys that I had to live with both started screaming in our shared room. When I went to see what was going on, there were hundreds of moths creating holes in all of their clothes and their bedding, and every time one of them tried to do something the moths would swarm them. I don't know how my magic did such a thing, but it obviously wasn't a natural event. I'll never complain about it happening though… the two boys were aggressive little brats and deserved what little comeuppance I was able to give."

"I'm not sure that would work on nargles," Luna hypothesised. "It's sad that that happened to you though, Thorfinn. Are those boys the reason you don't speak to people now?"

"I do speak to people," spluttered Thorfinn, defending himself automatically. "I speak to Hermione quite often, and I also speak to you, Professor McGonagall of all people, Professor Karkaroff – I even spoke briefly with a classmate the other day!"

"Oh, I don't know Thorfinn, your hatred for people sort of reminds me of Professor Snape-"

"_Snape?_" repeated Thorfinn, now looking very much offended. "Excuse me, but I am nothing like that man. He's mean to Hermione and I'm not, for starters – and at least I'm good looking and I wash my hair properly!"

"I think you have a bigger heart than him too," said Luna. He still didn't know if she had been joking yet, but did his best to take what she had been saying as teasing to keep himself from getting wound up. "But you are right… your hair is far less greasy. Oh, and you also don't have a wrackspurt problem either."

"I'm not even going to ask," mumbled Thorfinn. "So about the shoes…"

"I'm not worried about them, I'm sure they'll show up sooner or later."

"But you can't just walk around with no shoes," he said resolutely, "do you need me to help you look for your things? I've not got much on for the rest of the afternoon."

"Well," started Luna, "I suppose I might need a pair for care of magical creatures. They don't have to match though; I'm rather interested in the thought of combining a trainer and a sandal in the summer… one foot out in the open to keep you cool, and the other in a full shoe to keep you warm."

"Sounds like a plan." Thorfinn stated, wondering just what in the world he had heard. Though he didn't seem to always understand Luna, he didn't resent her for it. They were just different people with different views of the world they were living in. And so, after arranging to meet her back up at the castle following a shower and a change of clothes, Thorfinn spent the day glaring at students that gave Luna odd looks while they casually searched the hallways for her belongings. By the time dinner rolled around they had managed to find a pair of school shoes, a ball of colourful socks, and an additional slip-on pump. Thorfinn was a bit put off at the lack of discovered items, but the burning on the soles of his feet and the way in which his leather shoes were rubbing up against his heels signalled that the day was done.

The unlikely duo later found themselves seated on one of the benches that were scattered around the school courtyards. Luna had put on a mismatched combination of socks and the school shoes they had found and was tapping her feet in time with the songs from the birds up on the roofs; Thorfinn was simply enjoying the quiet.

"Luna?" he couldn't help but ask after a Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had walked past them holding hands. "If someone were to ask you on a date, what would you want that date to be?"

"I don't think Hermione Granger would enjoy my date as much as I would," replied a knowing Luna. Thorfinn simply chuckled at the answer, crossing his ankles while folding his arms tightly across his chest.

"OK, I'll rephrase," he offered. "If I were to ask Hermione on a date that isn't eating in the kitchens or sitting somewhere random on the grounds or in the library, what do you think that date should be?"

"Well, I think she would like something she is familiar with – something that she doesn't get to do often."

"Vague."

"Something in or related to the muggle world, Thorfinn." Luna said, and a sense of dread washed over him immediately at the thought of going back. He knew that Hermione had grown up there too and that she actually liked a lot of the time she spent there, even when socialising at primary school was difficult. The issue was that he had promised himself years prior that he would never return if he had the choice. He was happy without the muggle world; it was not a necessary factor in his life.

"But what if I don't like the muggle world?" asked Thorfinn.

"Well, I think that you would have to learn to… if you wanted to be with Hermione Granger, anyway. I assume even just tolerating it would make you more attractive. From what I've heard around school and in my room when people think I'm sleeping, she deals with prejudice all the time, so I doubt she would want her boyfriend to have the same opinion of muggles as the Slytherins that are mean to her."

"I suppose you could be right…" he mumbled, critically analysing all that had been said in his mind. Would dates out in the muggle world really be the key to a full relationship between himself and Hermione? Would they be what would eventually earn her love? Thorfinn turned to Luna with another question on the tip of his tongue, only to notice that she had risen from the bench.

"Hmm, I wonder if there's any leftover pudding in the hall..." Luna said to herself. It looked as if she had completely forgotten what they had spoken about seconds prior. "I think I'll go and check," she said, "thank you for helping me look for my things, by the way, and for scaring off some of the nargles."

"Oh, yeah, not a problem," replied Thorfinn, watching in confusion as she skipped away. After a few minutes to himself, he realised just why Luna had suddenly departed. She could see that there were a few things that he needed to work out on his own. Most importantly, Thorfinn needed to work through his issues with muggles in order to impress Hermione. It would not be an easy task, but he would definitely give it a go. The upcoming Easter break was a perfect time for a date (if he could get Professor McGonagall to agree to use of the floo) and so he began to plan.

* * *

Elsewhere in Hogwarts, there had been a dark revelation. Sybill Trelawney held the prophecy record in trembling hands. It had been the same experience as when she had produced her very first prophecy in the company of Albus Dumbledore. There would be no mistake. The legitimacy would be just as her last, she was sure. This was the next prophecy. Within the prophecy record was this:

"A third power rises – christened lord by right – to shape the world anew. Black and white – neither shall live till the other dies – with grey taking resulting rule. The Cerberus, he shall become, with allies in the unlikeliest of places. Wrong shall be done – unspeakable deeds committed – but the dog cannot be tamed, only directed by those _fairer_. The Cerberus rises."

Trelawney's whole body quivered as she stared at the sphere through her spectacles.

"The Cerberus rises," she whispered to herself, her trembling tone filled to the brim with fear.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"What part of the phrase 'no, you may not' are you not able to comprehend, Mr Rowle?" said the fabulously stern voice of Professor McGonagall. Thorfinn groaned and slumped back in the uncomfortably small chair, almost sliding off of it completely due to his size. The two had been going back and forth for at least five minutes now and Professor McGonagall was still not budging on the matter. Was using a floo really such a crime? If it were up to Thorfinn he'd simply apparate to and from the grounds, having been taught the basics of the easiest form of travel by Professor Karkaroff and his dark arts teacher when he had turned fifteen. Unfortunately, with the unwavering wards around Hogwarts he envisioned himself apparating back and being stuck outside the threshold for hours until Professor Dumbledore came and allowed re-entry. Definitely not an ideal situation.

"I understand the phrase just fine, professor – the issue here is that I have a problem with it."

"Well," said McGonagall, "that is your predicament, not mine. I have already bent the rules once for you, Mr Rowle, and I do not wish to do so again."

"But why?" Thorfinn droned somewhat petulantly. He had not realised he had become so comfortable in the presence of Professor McGonagall until that moment. This disagreement almost made him feel like just another normal teenager; a part of him did wish that he had found himself attached to a slightly more laid back parental figure, though.

"Because there are rules in place for a reason," she explained shrewdly.

"But you haven't even asked _why_ I want to use the floo in the first place," argued Thorfinn. "Most of the use would be during the Easter holidays anyway, so I don't see why you won't allow it. I'm legally an adult, aren't I? My right to travel shouldn't be forbidden-"

"It is not about your _right_ to travel, rather a matter of the security of Hogwarts. We simply cannot let students come and go as they please no matter the intention. Say I allowed you to use the floo whenever you wished, and then another student came to me with a similar request – would it be fair of me to deny them? No. So, in the interest of both the safety and security of Hogwarts and fairness in regards to students, I cannot allow you access to the floo."

"_Fairness_?" scoffed Thorfinn. "Really? That's a horrendous excuse – seriously, what on earth?"

"Horrendous? It is the opposite, actually. Say you had three children-"

"I'd rather not, I hate kids," he interrupted. McGonagall gave him a quick glare but carried on nonetheless.

"Say you had three young children and the oldest, most mature, asked you for permission to borrow your broom – the best broom on the market. Now, you're aware that your oldest is skilled enough to control said broom and make good use of it, so you allow them a go once if only to show them what to look forward to in the future and at Hogwarts. As expected, your child takes advantage of the opportunity and behaves magnificently, filling you with trust. However, your second born child overhears their sibling discussing the experience and therefore comes to you asking for a turn also. Your second born is known to be the mischievous one of the bunch, but you love them just as much as the others; despite this, you cannot trust that the second born will fly the broom sensibly and safely, and you therefore tell your child no. They then proceed to accuse you of being unfair, as you had let their older sibling have a go… do you understand my point, Mr Rowle?"

"Yeah, of course," said Thorfinn. "But why would you care about an accusation of unfairness? If it were me in the situation you just described I'd just tell the kid to grow a spine and get over it."

"Well, Mr Rowle, perhaps you should heed your own advice. I will not allow you to consistently use the floo – it is against the rules – so I suggest you 'grow a spine' as you so _eloquently_ put it. Or, rather, you do as the children here say: cry a river, build a bridge, and get over it."

"Very funny, professor," Thorfinn snorted, his arms tightly folded across his chest. "You wound me, honestly."

"Oh goodness me, Rowle, I never envisioned you being so dramatic," exclaimed McGonagall. "Since you are clearly very bored and feel an unwavering need to cause a fuss, would you at least explain to me why you feel as though you are required to use the floo?"

"I need to go back to Gringotts – get directions or a portkey for the manor," he explained. "Then I need it over Easter so that I can take Hermione out somewhere quiet on a few dates because of all this Skeeter crap. I also intend to ask her to officially be my girlfriend and I'd like to try and plan something nice for it."

"These don't seem to be particularly urgent matters, Rowle," sighed McGonagall. "And even so, there is still a small part of me that would like to give you the permission. It would just be incredibly unfair, and if people were to find out-"

"They won't! You're implying that Hermione and I can't keep a secret?"

"You cannot use the floo, Rowle, I'm sorry."

"Please?" Thorfinn tried.

"No."

"Come on, please…"

"Absolutely not," said McGonagall, "now stop with the childish behaviour." Thorfinn's head fell into his hands and he let out some sort of strangled/sighing noise. The situation was utterly infuriating and they were just going around in circles at this point. In fact, he was quite surprised that his magic had not damaged anything yet.

"Professor," he started, doing his best to conceal any desperation he was feeling, "if you do this for me, I will owe you a favour."

"You are a student, Rowle – that is highly inappropriate."

"I'm also the only living member of the Rowle family, a capable wizard, and Hermione Granger's future boyfriend." Thorfinn reasoned. He had to admit that he was getting ahead of himself with the last comment, but a little confidence had never seemed to hurt anybody. "A favour could come in very handy one day… you never know."

"You are absolutely impossible," stated McGonagall.

"Hermione has a similar opinion," he shrugged in reply. Apparently everyone that actually knew Thorfinn thought him to be impossible; Hermione had used the term incorrigible on multiple occasions too. To be completely honest, he found it slightly amusing and had no intention to change himself around Hermione specifically. His relationship with McGonagall was still on rather thin ice and he remained slightly cautious since it was fixed into his nature at this point. But with Hermione it was different; it was freeing. Liberating. "I hope you realise that I'm going to harass you constantly about this until you let me use the floo for dates. It's not exactly easy for Hermione and I to spend time together here; there's almost always eyes on us now, there's a ludicrous amount of distractions, there's not really anything to do other than sha-"

"I suggest you refrain from continuing along that train of thought."

"You get my point though?" asked Thorfinn. "I don't care how unfair it is – with the amount of rubbish she and I put up with constantly, we deserve this. Besides… I'll owe you a favour."

"You will owe me no such thing," responded McGonagall. Her tone was undeniably stern and he knew it would be sensible to abandon that suggestion for now. Even so, her resolve was wavering. Perhaps it would only be a matter of time.

* * *

"Hermione!" yelled Ginny Weasley, barging into the fourth year dormitory. Fay Dunbar, who had spilled her gobstones the last time Ginny had blasted her way in, jumped out of her skin in surprise. Unfortunately, Fay had been working on a potions essay at the time and the shock caused her quill to slip upwards from the letter she was writing, drawing a harsh black line through the middle of her parchment. Ginny ignored the furious glare in her direction, searching the room for any sign of her friend.

"Where is everyone?" Ginny asked rhetorically, noting that Parvati and Lavender were also missing from the room.

"Not here, obviously," was Fay's snarky response. Ginny turned to see the brunette looking over her essay with a mixture of sadness and anger. "If you could knock next time, it'd be appreciated."

"Oh, sorry," said Ginny, realising her mistake. Though looking back on it she did not sound very sorry at all. "You wouldn't happen to know where everyone is at by any chance…"

"Parvati was supposed to be meeting up with her sister and a couple of the Ravenclaw girls this evening; Lavender said she was planning to sneak off somewhere with Seamus; Hermione, I think, went for a shower and whatever a while ago." Before Ginny could thank Fay for being an unbelievably convenient fountain of knowledge, Hermione wandered through the open door with a small pile of clothes and a maroon washbag. Her hair was slightly damp, indicating that it had been wrapped up in a towel for a while, and she was wearing flannel pyjama bottoms with an old black t-shirt. It was clear that an early night was her intention, but Ginny was here to rain on her parade.

"'Mione," the redhead said quickly. Hermione had not even had the chance to put her clothes down on the end of the bed. "Guess what!"

"What?" Hermione asked, opting to play along with whatever Ginny was getting at. She figured it would be easier to just go with it, all things considered.

"Your boyfriend's outside," revealed an enthusiastic Ginny. Fay rolled her eyes at the admission and Hermione was not surprised by the action; Parvati and Lavender spoke of the Durmstrang boys far too much, and it had only worsened after the Yule Ball. Hermione couldn't fault Fay for being utterly fed up of the topic… after all, she was just as tired if not more so. Thorfinn's arms were lovely – of that Hermione was very much aware – however hearing Lavender giggle about the size of his biceps late at night made her momentarily wish that he had a body more like Krum's.

"He isn't my boyfriend, Gin," Hermione muttered as she quickly moved to plait her damp hair.

"OK, well, your future husband is waiting outside for you – said he needs to talk to you about something and asked me to pass on the message. Of course, I told him he should just come in like the last time, but he started going on about needing to be careful because of all the talk at the moment."

"Future husband?" Hermione spluttered indignantly, her face quickly darkening in colour. While she understood that the wizarding world was more traditional in regards to marriage at a young age, Hermione struggled to think of herself being in the position to do so. As much as she was beginning to like Thorfinn in such a way, two snogging sessions and the small kiss she'd given him as a thank you for listening to her rant about the papers did _not_ equate to potential marriage. Hermione hoped that Thorfinn understood that, seeing as he had spent a period of his life in the muggle world. "Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren't you?"

"She's a pureblood, Hermione," piped up Fay, who had been quietly trying to fix the damage to her essay throughout the conversation. "If you haven't noticed, quite a lot of the purebloods around here are ready to pop out a kid before the age of twenty – it's just the way things have always been. Ginny here is probably already planning on the colour of her bridesmaids dress too; quite a lot of magical couples get engaged soon after Hogwarts if they're already matched by their families or have found their person."

"Well, I can't imagine Thorfinn rushing to have children, so I suppose it isn't _all_ pureblood wizards." Hermione stated plainly, turning back towards Ginny. "Though I do hope that you _haven't_ been hearing wedding bells Gin-"

"But 'Mione…" whined Ginny.

"Oh, gosh," Hermione sighed, bring her hand to her forehead, "we aren't even a couple, Ginny."

"And you never will be if you leave him standing outside all night," scoffed Fay. Hermione looked between both girls in alarm, realising that she had become distracted and completely forgotten about why Thorfinn was the topic of discussion in the first place. She hurriedly threw on a nearby crimson, fluffy bathrobe and rushed down to the common room. With power that Hermione did not know she possessed, she flung open the portrait and darted outside, looking around for any sign on Thorfinn. After a few stressful moments, she found him seated at the top of a nearby staircase and prayed that it was a stationary one.

"Well," he started slowly, rising to his feet and looking her over with quite an intense gaze. "This is quite the fashion statement," Thorfinn teased.

"Don't start," Hermione warned playfully, the heat from earlier still prominent in her cheeks.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said. "In fact, that bathrobe looks ridiculously comfy and I may have to invest in a matching one."

"Stop," she laughed softly, pulling it to a close in order to conceal her old pyjamas. Just to add to her shame, Thorfinn had decided to be dressed smartly for his impromptu visit: he'd chosen to combine a brown shoe with black slacks, a white shirt, and his favourite black coat that had been left open. He looked so painfully handsome under the nearby candlelight. The warm light brought a new softness to his usually crisp blue eyes, and also highlighted the tiny indent of a scar that sat between his left eyebrow and hairline. Then here she was. Fresh out of the shower, damp hair in a messy, haphazard plait… _nice one, Hermione_, she couldn't help but think.

"Something bothering you?" Thorfinn asked, taking note of the thoughtful frown that had slowly gained prominence.

"Oh no, everything is fine," replied Hermione. She forced down all of her insecurities in that moment, knowing that they were silly. Thorfinn wasn't the type to judge her for her appearance; he'd made it clear enough that he liked and respected her, and so there was really no reason for her to worry when she thought about it all logically. "Ginny mentioned you wanted to talk to me about something, though…"

"Yeah, wanted to see if you'd agree to a proper date with me," he said. Hermione thought she could detect the slightest amount of smugness within his tone and immediately became curious.

"Proper?" she questioned.

"It's a surprise," Thorfinn smiled cheekily.

"Of course it is." Hermione responded, rolling her eyes. Just as she was about to ask for a date and time, their private interaction was interrupted by Neville Longbottom. Neville had been rushing clumsily up the staircase and had almost collapsed in front of the Fat Lady while trying to catch his breath. Thorfinn was looking at the boy in both amusement and annoyance; his eyes flashed with anger as a result of the interruption, but the rest of his face made it look as if he was holding in laughter or a callous comment. "Neville?" Hermione questioned in concern, looking far more sympathetic than her counterpart. "Are you alright? Would you like me to say the password?"

"What?" Neville asked in confusion, seeming to only just realise that he had company. "No – no, I'm fine, thanks," he managed to say while still struggling to catch his breath. "I know the password – for once – I'm just – Merlin I don't think I'm ever going to breathe properly again." His hands had dropped to his knees and he was keeled over in what had to have been an exact ninety degree angle.

"Wizard's stamina, mate," commented Thorfinn, still looking tremendously amused. Neville's extremely red face lost the majority of its colour immediately. The Gryffindor seemed to realise just who it was that had spoken to him in that moment. Thorfinn Rowle was many different things to many different people; to Neville, he was one of _them_. The Rowles were known to be on very good terms with the Lestranges, and the Lestranges had done unspeakable things to his family and so many others. But then, as he continued to regulate this breathing, he remembered that Thorfinn Rowle had been standing with Hermione (a muggleborn who had also been his date to the Yule Ball). Neville knew Hermione well; they'd been housemates for four years now and she was always there to kindly help him through potions and any other subject he struggled with. Hermione would never associate with someone that she didn't wish to associate with. She was one of the strongest people he knew.

"Are you sure you're okay, Neville?" Hermione spoke up. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," repeated Neville, having recovered to a point where he could stand straight again. He looked very dishevelled; his robes were hanging off of his right shoulder, his tie was loose and crooked, and his dark hair was stuck out in multiple directions with a couple of strands being glued to his boiling forehead. "Just had a bit of a run-in with Peeves – you know how it goes."

"Peeves is about?" asked Thorfinn.

"Merlin, I hope not," Neville answered hesitantly, "I think I managed to lose him down near the library."

"Shame," said Thorfinn, and Hermione looked at him in confusion.

"Shame?" she repeated. "More like a blessing – he's an absolute nightmare on a good day!"

"Not to me," chuckled Thorfinn, earning questioning, sceptical stares from the two Gryffindor students. "I've met him a few times and he likes to play a game. He does something to wind people up and asks me to rate his tricks out of ten."

"But why…"

"Does he like me?" Thorfinn finished for Hermione. She nodded. "From what I've gathered, it's because I'm the opposite of a people person. I don't like people and he likes pissing people off."

"Oh, charming," responded Hermione, her tone very dry, "sounds like the two of you are a match made in heaven."

"If anything, it's you and I that are the match made in heaven," Thorfinn said cheekily. "Since you're my _angel_-"

Hermione pointed two fingers towards her mouth and faked a gag.

Thorfinn burst out laughing at the boldness of her response to his joke and she followed soon after. Neville looked between the pair utterly incredulous, wondering just how close the two were and how in the world it had happened. Everyone had thought the articles written about Hermione's relationship with Thorfinn were exaggerated nonsense just like the comments about Hermione and Harry. Apparently, there was actually some truth, because she _did_ seem to be involved with Thorfinn Rowle, judging by the way they had joked with each other and the fact that Hermione's hand had instinctively come to rest on his elbow while they laughed.

"Sorry," Thorfinn said to her as they calmed down, "you know I just can't help myself sometimes."

"Yes, I'm starting to notice that," answered Hermione, who had brought up a thumb to stop a brewing tear of laughter under her eye. "Sorry about that Neville," she said quickly, looking at her friend apologetically.

"No worries," Neville replied, turning to the Fat Lady and offering her the password. The portrait swung open but he spun back to the unlikely duo before he was all the way inside, and with a small smile said, "It's nice to see you happy, Hermione."

"Thank you, Neville," she said softly, flashing him a bright smile before he disappeared inside. Hermione was aware that it had taken a lot for him to speak up in support and was incredibly grateful he had done so. Thorfinn noticed her brief silence and carefully weaved an arm around her waist. He hesitated for a second, before giving in to the sudden urge to press a kiss to her temple. Hermione seemed a little surprised by the subtle show of affection but didn't comment. Instead, she turned to face him fully and found herself fiddling with the buttons on the front of his open coat.

"So," he drawled out, "about that date…"

"Call me your angel again and there won't be one," teased Hermione.

"First Monday of the Easter holidays." Thorfinn stated resolutely. "Scrap your revision timetable for the day, too." Hermione looked momentarily dismayed at the thought of rearranging her entire Easter timetable. Naturally, she had already planned each day meticulously and it would be a nightmare changing everything.

"The whole day? But… my arithmancy…" Thorfinn gave her a look. "Oh, fine, I'll sort it out somehow. What are we doing that will take up the entire day?"

"It's still a surprise," he said smugly. "And now that that's settled, is there any chance I can have a kiss goodnight?" Hermione rolled her eyes at him but still moved to pull him towards her by the back of his neck. The kiss was soft – undeniably hesitant – and Thorfinn noted that while she had gained enough confidence to make the first move, she still wasn't comfortable with jumping on him for a passionate pull. Regardless, he revelled in her affections. "I'll meet you here at ten," Thorfinn said after they had parted. "I'm going to be quite busy until then, though – if we don't see each other don't think I'm avoiding you or anything."

"I won't," said Hermione. "It's nice of you to let me know, by the way. You're very thoughtful when you want to be."

"I try," Thorfinn smiled.

"I know," she told him softly, pulling away slightly. "Goodnight, Thorfinn."

"Yeah," he mumbled as she moved to the portrait. "Goodnight." Hermione disappeared into the warmth of the Gryffindor common room, leaving Thorfinn standing rather uselessly outside.

After the date had been set in stone, Thorfinn went straight back to the ship and relaxed with a drink and some music. While he enjoyed spending time with Hermione immensely, old habits seemed to die hard. He found that time to himself was just as important as time with the witch he liked; a balance helped him maintain a sense of clarity and calm. Even after a couple of drinks Thorfinn still managed an early night, aware that he would be busy the following day.

Once his morning classes and training with Karkaroff came to a close, Thorfinn helped himself to quick lunch before changing into some of the smartest clothes he owned. Dressed up in a black shirt and trousers with his best dark coat, Thorfinn rushed to Professor McGonagall's office and said a speedy thank you before disappearing to Diagon Alley. He soon found himself back in Gringotts being offered a portkey to Rowle Manor following a ridiculous amount of security checks.

The portkey brought Thorfinn to the vast grounds of the manor. His first thoughts were not about the size of the home itself, nor were they about the extensive fields of green and how they reflected the bold spring sun. Rather, his first thought was about the wards surrounding the area. They were some of the most complex magic he had ever felt, and took his attention away from the looming home before him. Rowle Manor was very much similar to Malfoy Manor, only slightly lighter in colour and much wider. Thorfinn was not naïve and had expected as such; even so, it was a relatively grim sight.

He ventured up a cobbled path towards what looked to be the main entrance. As he neared, the two large doors swung open to reveal a rather unwelcoming foyer. The open space housed an enormous, ominous chandelier that had no doubt been crafted as a one of a kind to intimidate visitors and give the owner of the home something to brag about. There were stairs on either side of the squared space, both leading upstairs to the same space on the landing. Thorfinn found a second staircase completely irrelevant. Between the stairs was an exposed hallway, and there were open doors on both his left and his right that led to various rooms.

As Thorfinn glanced to his left, he noticed that the door led to an undoubtedly extravagant dining room. That was not what caught his eye, however. Instead, he zeroed in on what looked to be a trembling house elf hiding behind the doorframe. From what he could see, the elf looked slightly smaller than those he had been around at Hogwarts and he idly pondered the possibility of malnutrition. Nevertheless, the creature did not appear to have any intention of moving from their hiding spot and so he took a tentative step closer, his leather shoes echoing as they made contact with the chilling grey tiles. The small elf suddenly darted behind the frame and his newfound curiosity peaked exponentially.

The dining area was just as dramatic as he had assumed it to be. The room was fitted with solid wood flooring, and Thorfinn supposed it was at least slightly more comforting than the foyer even if the wood was near black in colour. In the centre of the room was a ridiculously long table with a quivering house elf crouching beneath it. It was also a dark wood, but was a shade or so lighter so that it stood out against the flooring. There was an embroidered middle table cloth that was a rich emerald green, as well as ten chairs lining each side of the table and another two at the ends.

Thorfinn strolled calmly towards the table and paused for a moment. Then, with tremendous speed, he ripped away the chair closest to him and dropped to a knee. The initial assumption had been correct; this house elf was slightly smaller than those at Hogwarts. The elf was hunched over and recoiled when they locked eyes. Stoic blue met shimmering walnut and the jaw of the elf began to tremble uncontrollably. Thorfinn immediately took note of the torn old pillowcase that covered most of their elf's body; it looked as if it had been slashed with a blade multiple times and it was also covered in spots of what was likely blood. Concern must have flashed across Thorfinn's passive face because the elf took a tiny step towards him and their drooped ears twitched upwards a little.

"M-master Rowle, sir?" the house elf whispered in a sorrow filled voice that Thorfinn assumed to be quite on the masculine side of the species.

"That was my name last time I checked," said Thorfinn, smiling encouragingly. After a few empty seconds, the house elf suddenly dropped to the floor with a light thud and promptly broke down. Thorfinn had never been comfortable around crying of any sort and the loud sobs were admittedly unsettling. The house elf seemed to be struggling to breathe as he wiped his constant stream of tears away using the front of the disgustingly dirty pillowcase. "Hey," Thorfinn started, doing his best to sound approachable, "why don't you come out from under here?"

"Yes, Master Rowle, sir," said the house elf between hiccups. Thorfinn rose to his feet in order to give the small creature more space and noticed that the elf was struggling to find the energy to move at a normal speed. As soon as the elf was out from under the structure, Thorfinn bent down and lifted the small elf effortlessly onto the pristine table in front of him. The poor house elf looked immediately alarmed as he rubbed at his big eyes like a small child.

"What's your name?" Thorfinn questioned now that they were almost eye level.

"Rocky, Master Rowle, sir."

"Rocky?" repeated Thorfinn, looking both surprised and oddly impressed. "That is quite possibly the best house elf name I've ever heard."

"T-thank you, Master Rowle, sir," sniffled Rocky before he quietly blew his nose on the front of his sad garment.

"Can you tell me what's got you in such a state?" Thorfinn asked bluntly, folding his arms as he glanced over the blood stains once more.

"Rocky is ashamed, sir – and so very sorry," said Rocky, who soon burst out into a fresh set of tears once more. Thorfinn sighed quietly at the sight before him, giving the house elf an expectant look. "Rocky tried to help – really did – but the nasty men attacked Rocky, sir. Then… then Mistress – she screamed, sir, because Master grabbed her and pulled her close. And then it was red. Everything was red. And Rocky tried to help Mistress – because Mistress was crying – but the nasty men started shooting at Master-"

"That's enough, Rocky," Thorfinn muttered quietly, struggling to find his voice. Had Rocky really just informed him that his father had used his mother as a human shield during their final stand? His gut twisted at the thought of a man doing such a thing to his loyal wife. It was a truth universally acknowledged that his parents were not good people and avid followers of the Dark Lord, yet somehow Thorfinn felt the tiniest shred of sympathy for his mother. Betrayed in her very last moments by the one she trusted most, left to die what was likely a most painful death…

"Rocky is sorry, Master Rowle, sir – and Rocky will be punished now."

"No, you won't," said Thorfinn. "I don't care how things were done when you served my parents, you're in my care now and I don't do that shit. So, before we talk more you need to sort yourself out. Clean yourself and eating something; it doesn't look like you've done much of either since you lost my parents."

"Rocky doesn't deserve food, Master Rowle, sir." Rocky mumbled sadly, looking down at his feet. "Mistress begged Rocky for help, but Rocky could not help – Rocky deserves to die, sir. Rocky should not have life when Mistress does not."

"Okay," Thorfinn sighed, lifting Rocky once more and placing the elf in a seated position on his bulky shoulder. He kept one hand on Rocky's side in order to steady him. "The kitchen. Show me."

"That way, sir," said Rocky, pointing towards a door at the far end of the dining room. Thorfinn was rather thankful that the kitchen was not at the opposite end of the house, and entered to find a large open space and a multitude of dark, marbled counters. He placed Rocky down on the island in the middle of the kitchen and began searching through the ridiculous number of cupboards. Most were empty; it appeared that Rocky had kept the house clean but understandably not automatically inhabitable. Eventually, Thorfinn happened upon a shiny silver tin. It was covered in a layer of dust, but he cracked it open with ridiculous ease and found that it was tinned pineapple.

"Eat," ordered Thorfinn, placing the tin on the counter just in front of the troubled house elf. Rocky looked at the object unsurely and Thorfinn pushed it even closer. "That wasn't me asking," he said firmly, and Rocky hesitantly reached for a small pineapple chunk. The elf looked guilty while he ate a couple of pieces and Thorfinn maintained an expectant expression the entire time. Internally, he had no idea what to make of the entire situation. Thorfinn had not visited the manor with the intention of looking after a downtrodden family house elf. He wondered what Hermione would think of his actions; she was mostly responsible for his developing view of house elves and he figured that she would at least admire his careful approach.

"Master Rowle?"

"Yes?"

"Rocky is sorry, sir," said the house elf, vanishing the near empty tin.

"We've already established that," Thorfinn responded, restraining an instinctual eye roll. This elf most certainly was British; he couldn't seem to stop spewing apologies.

"Rocky could not find you, sir. Rocky was magically tied to Rowle Manor – Master Rowle requested it before… what happened." Rocky stated. "Rocky is very grateful for your return, sir. Sometimes it felt like you would never come home. But you were still alive, sir, because of the magic in Rowle Manor I knew."

"I hold nothing against you," said Thorfinn. "Now, why don't you show me the house? I didn't come with the intention to live here, by the way. I was more hoping to trigger the floo and find something detailing the locations of the other homes – Crossington House, specifically."

"But why would Master Rowle not wish to live in Rowle Manor?"

"Because I am more comfortable with the north." Thorfinn stated with a small shrug. "You're familiar with the other properties, I take it?"

"Of course, sir," replied Rocky. "Would – would you like me to get started on the floo, sir?"

"After the tour, Rocky," Thorfinn said with a smile. "Thank you for offering. For now, show me _everything_ that's been left here. I'll admit I'm intrigued."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

It was time. And Hermione was nervous. Logically, she shouldn't have been; she had spent a relatively large amount of time with Thorfinn since he had entered her life. Even so, logic had been thrown out of the window and she was undeniably restless. Ginny, on the other hand, was almost vibrating with excitement in the seat beside her. The common room was moderately empty seeing as it was the first Monday of the Easter holidays. While most students had opted for a lie in, Ginny had risen at the crack of dawn and had not left Hermione's side since.

"You're panicking," noted Ginny, as Hermione glanced at the nearby clock to see that it had just gone five to ten.

"Oh, really?" Hermione responded waspishly. "Whatever gave you that idea?" Ginny, being the good friend that she was, did not call her out for snapping. Instead, the redhead waited diligently by her side as the minutes crept by at a painfully slow space. Hermione's anxiety seemed to have stemmed from the classic palaver of not knowing what to wear. Ginny couldn't blame her for her panic either; Rowle had given absolutely no indication in regards to what the date actually entailed. After much deliberation, they had settled on white trainers with slightly fitted blue jeans, paired up with a pastel pink top and statement denim jacket. Ginny had entered the ring for round two against Hermione's hair earlier in the morning and while it was down her back as she often had it, it was decidedly less frizzy and maintained more elegant waves.

"OK seriously 'Mione, stop freaking out," sighed Ginny. Hermione glanced at her nervously and that was when the inspirational speech from one strong witch to another began. "Right. It doesn't matter what the date is, you look bloody _fit_! Honestly, I'll be surprised if Rowle isn't tripping over his own feet the whole time. You need to stop worrying – get back your Gryffindor courage for Merlin's sake – because Rowle seems to like you for _you_. And you are a strong, independent, intelligent, and outrageously bad-arse witch! He's expecting _that_ you and I expect you to show him that you."

"Well said, Ginny!" cheered Angelina Johnson, who had been seated in a nearby armchair that was unintentionally within earshot of the conversation.

"Cheers Angelina," replied a bashful Ginny, "I'll be here all week." Angelina laughed at the comment before going back to her Quidditch related magazine.

"All right," Hermione said slowly, inhaling a couple of deep breaths. Her posture gradually straightened and along with it came a slightly more confident exuberance. Ginny looked very much proud of herself as she pulled Hermione up from the sofa, her eyes roaming over her in what was one last outfit check.

"OK, it's time. You look great, you smell fab – seriously you'll have to give me the name of that perfume when you get back later… you're coming across confident and in control. This is it, 'Mione. You're coming back home spoken for, I'm absolutely sure. No pressure, though."

"Oh, yes, no pressure at all Gin," retorted Hermione as she rolled her eyes.

"Now, after all I've done, I'm technically the third member of this relationship and I am expecting you to name your first born after me."

There was a pregnant pause. It was rather fitting.

"Pardon?"

"Ginevra if the child is a girl… and if it's a boy, well I suppose I could settle for being the godmother-"

Hermione sprinted out of the common room faster than she had ever moved in her life. Angelina Johnson was absolutely creasing with laughter inside and Ginny seemed to be cackling along with her. Hermione soon realised that it had been less on the serious side and rather had the intention of easing her tension before meeting with Thorfinn. It seemed to have worked for a second too. However, the moment she found him outside, some of the nervousness resurfaced in the form of her stomach twisting. He was unreasonably attractive. In fact, it was rather annoying just how attractive he was.

Thorfinn Rowle was looking more muggle than she had ever seen him and Hermione knew in that moment that she much preferred that fashion on him over the traditional wizarding styles. He was wearing a pair of slightly worn black trainers that she suspected he had owned before travelling from Durmstrang, as well as jeans in a very dark navy and a coal crew neck t-shirt that fit his body spectacularly. She took a second to pray that Lavender Brown had not seen him; the short sleeves were insanely tight around his arms and if her roommate had seen no one would ever hear the end of it.

Then Thorfinn smiled at her and she didn't think that she had ever seen him look so charming. It was all because of the muggle clothing, she was sure of it. He had always been very handsome but this was just… more so than usual, Hermione supposed, and Merlin was she unprepared.

"You look nice," he said, breaking the silence between the two. It was then that Hermione noticed that he was looking at her just as she was looking at him; that fact made it decidedly less embarrassing for her. While he had offered a rather simple compliment – instead of bursting out into a heartfelt soliloquy that would have undoubtedly made her cringe exponentially – it still had the desired effect. It was genuine and the simplicity was very Thorfinn. And that made her feel special.

"Thank you," Hermione finally responded, "you do as well." Honestly, she had no idea why she suddenly felt so _awkward_. They had pulled on more than one occasion for crying out loud! They'd crossed that line and she recalled those moments with a huge capacity of fondness. Perhaps it was because this was their first proper date if they excluded the Yule Ball, which had technically been a school event that Thorfinn had been obligated to attend anyway. But then, she wondered what exactly the date would be, since they had done pretty much all there was to do in the castle already… well, other than shag in an old broom cupboard. Hermione firmly told herself that that was not her style and despite Thorfinn looking particularly appealing in full muggle attire she still remained firm in telling herself no.

"You're thinking very hard," chuckled Thorfinn, an expression of amusement on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes at his comment but didn't deny it, allowing herself a small smile when he took her hand in his own. As Thorfinn led her through Hogwarts, she noticed that he had come to know the castle rather well. Even so, Hermione was still more accustomed; she realised where they were going when they were still a good minute or so away.

"If your surprise is tea and biscuits with Professor McGonagall-"

"It isn't," Thorfinn laughed. Actually laughed. It was certainly an 'I know something you don't' laugh, but it was so authentic that Hermione could not summon a feeling of annoyance. She'd noticed that he didn't seem to laugh all that much, but when he did it was usually with her. Thorfinn had spent the majority of his existence in either serious or distressing places, so she assumed he had never had much of a reason. It was nice to know that she was helping him see another aspect of life.

"So why are we outside her office?" questioned Hermione, watching as he knocked on the door before waltzing in with a definite sense of familiarity. It shocked her slightly, seeing as not many people had the audacity to enter the space of Professor McGonagall without explicit permission. Professor McGonagall was seated at her desk and did not look at all surprised to see Thorfinn. Other than a slight pinched expression, the transfiguration teacher seemed to be purposely ignoring their presence.

"Good morning, professor!" Thorfinn said jovially, pulling Hermione over towards the floo as McGonagall rolled her eyes at his demeanour.

"Behave yourself, Rowle," Professor McGonagall commented offhandedly, her gaze not leaving the tall stack of marking.

"Of course, professor," chortled Thorfinn, holding out the small pot of floo powder towards Hermione. "So… since Hogwarts is pretty much impossible to travel to and from, Professor McGonagall has _graciously_ offered use of her personal floo." The woman mentioned made a noise of disagreement in response to the comment. Thorfinn cleared his throat before continuing. "Anyway, we'll be going through to my family's manor and I'll apparate us from there. I'll go through first – so you can hear the pronunciation – and if you don't appear within two minutes after I'll assume you're sipping on a cocktail on a beach in Cornwall. Sound good?" Hermione had no chance to reply. "Great," he said, collecting some powder from the pot in Hermione's hand. "Rowle Manor!"

"Did he really just…"

"I believe so, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall as the green flames dissipated. "Nevertheless, I suggest you go on through. Mr Rowle put a ludicrous amount of effort into nagging me about leaving the grounds."

"Oh, I don't doubt it, professor," Hermione replied with a slight laugh, gathering some powder for herself before putting the pot back where Thorfinn had taken it from. "Rowle Manor!" she called out, being immediately greeted by the magical fire. Moments later, Hermione stepped out into what she assumed to be a rather ominous drawing room.

"Bit grim, isn't it?" asked Thorfinn, who had taken a seat on one of the dark maroon sofas.

"Well, I wouldn't say that…" trailed off Hermione, "though I would say that your family certainly had a specific… taste."

"That's putting it very politely," he commented. Although it was supposed to be a room for entertaining guests, the drawing room was rather dark. There were a few windows that were supposed to let light in, but they did not appear to do a very good job. The colour scheme was awfully bland and the room was lacking welcoming decoration; even the meticulous coffee table carvings maintained a dispiriting aura. "So," Thorfinn started, casually approaching Hermione and taking her hand once more. "How familiar are you with side-along?"

"Not very," admitted Hermione, looking both curious and slightly nervous.

"Oh, you're going to _love_ it."

"Now I'm ten times more worried than I was a minute ago," she deadpanned.

"It'll be fine," chuckled Thorfinn. "I won't even let you lose your balance – catching you would be far more beneficial for me anyway." Hermione rolled her eyes, aware of his insinuations. "It might be a bit uncomfortable for you, but you'll be back to normal after a minute or so. Trust me, it'll be worth it. I've been doing a lot of planning since I was made aware that it'd be something you'd appreciate."

"Alright," said Hermione, sounding far more confident than she was feeling. "I'm ready when you are." Thorfinn gave her a reassuring nod and they disapparated from the manor with an audible crack. When they landed in an unsightly muggle back alley, Hermione's first thought was that she was going to throttle Thorfinn for drastically downplaying the discomfort of side-along apparition. Then, the nausea set in, and somehow she just knew that it was Thorfinn's arms that were wrapped cautiously around her waist as he held her steady from behind.

"Deep breaths," he muttered, his hot breath brushing up against her ear. "You're doing very well, you know? First time Karkaroff side-alonged me I threw up." Hermione's head fell back against his prominent chest and her eyes were shut tightly; she was clearly trying to shake off the lightheaded sensation brought with the nausea. The muggle city continued to cause a ruckus all around them, and while Thorfinn was already on edge as a result of his muggle world paranoia, Hermione still had no comprehension of where they were currently standing.

"You are such a _prat_," she groaned out eventually, forcibly swallowing down a nasty gag that accompanied her words.

"Sorry," Thorfinn said, tightening his hold on her slightly. "I thought it would be best not to be dramatic about the effects. The last thing I wanted was you freaking out and accidently getting yourself splinched."

"You're still a prat," mumbled Hermione.

"A _caring_ prat."

"But still a prat." Hermione stated, finally opening her eyes as she was feeling slightly better. Even though Thorfinn had withheld the severity, he had been right about her recovering within a few minutes. She took a moment to observe their surroundings and the sight was far from pretty. It was almost as if he had chosen to take her to the most unsavoury place he could think of. There were rows of commercial bins in a rainbow of colours at the far end of the alley, and there was a damp, humid smell that her nose seemed to vehemently object to. There were also various pieces of litter scattered throughout the entire backstreet, with the most noticeable reoccurring items being bottles, cans, and disintegrating cigarette packets. "Thorfinn, I understand the need for secrecy and the legal ramifications, but did you really have to choose what is quite possibly the dingiest alley in all of London?"

"We're not in London." Thorfinn stated bluntly.

"Then we're…" Hermione started, cutting herself off as a look of recognition quickly appeared on her face. "You've brought us to Manchester?" Thorfinn nodded and she noticed how he'd frequently break eye contact to scan their surroundings. The action reminded her of Mad-Eye Moody. Constant vigilance! "Why would you choose to come here? I know we never touch on a lot of the specifics of your time here, but it's always been glaringly obvious that whatever happened here is what shaped your opinion on muggles and the world."

"I understand why you're confused, Hermione," he said, "and I won't lie and say that being back in the muggle world is easy to stomach. I suppose you could say that I happened upon a source of wisdom, and it was pointed out to me that with everything going on at the moment, the muggle world is the best opportunity for privacy and a normal date. Then, I also came to realise that I need to at least be able to brave the muggle world if I want to continue to spend so much time with you; the muggle world is a part of who you are and I know you would not change who you are for me – nor would I wish you to do so." A nervous sensation settled within Thorfinn's chest when it looked like Hermione might cry. But then she all but flung herself at him and wrapped him up in a tight, thankful hug.

"Thank you," she said softly. "Do you think you could let me know where we're going now?"

"Bowling." Thorfinn stated with a slight smirk, keeping an arm around her shoulders as they made a move to exit the alley. Hermione simply pressed herself further into his side and used her right hand to hold the limb that was currently dangling over the front of her shoulder. "As far as muggle things go, I don't think there's much that can beat bowling," he explained. "Course, I've only been twice and it was years ago so I'm expecting to be thrashed and have already come to terms with my masculinity being tarnished."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," laughed Hermione. "My parents always used to win when we went. Dad always used to make fun of me for being terrible, too. I just don't appear to have any semblance of coordination when it comes to sports."

"It'll be more fun then, I'm sure," he said, pulling her in the direction of a large building. "Let's go and embarrass ourselves, shall we?" Hermione laughed at that and they soon found themselves carelessly flinging bowling balls and cheering in the typically British way whenever either of them knocked down a fair amount of pins. Luckily, the Hogwarts Easter holidays did not fall around the same date as the schools in Manchester, meaning that the alley was fairly quiet and they could be as disruptive as they wished. After three games – of which Hermione won two and Thorfinn scraped a win during the final one – the duo ventured out in search of somewhere good to have lunch.

It was obvious to Hermione that Thorfinn had had the ways of a pureblood gentleman placed upon him during his time at Durmstrang. In all honesty, she had expected a very fancy restaurant and was unsure of how she felt about the idea. Naturally, Thorfinn had managed to surprise her yet again. He took her to a pub. A very nice one, in fact. It was a quaint establishment and was named The Brown Lamb. Just like the bowling alley, The Brown Lamb was rather quiet; Thorfinn appeared to be noticeably less tense once they were inside and he had found a seat that put his back to the wall.

Hermione had soon taken a liking to The Brown Lamb. It was a classic British pub in every sense yet had a particularly pleasant atmosphere. It had one of those distinctive ugly carpets taking up the floor and to balance it out there were walls that were half wooden planks (starting from the floor, finishing halfway up) and half painted in a light crimson. There were a couple of televisions scattered around playing a variety of muggle sports and there was also a kind faced young woman manning the bar.

The two had a remarkably lovely lunch of pub fish and chips, with Thorfinn vowing to try the beef burger if they ever returned for another meal. As they discussed various charms theories at the table, Hermione noticed the gradual decrease of Thorfinn's paranoia. He still did not look as comfortable as he did when they were seated alone in the Hogwarts kitchens, but she supposed it was a work in progress. Following Thorfinn's confession of being unable to cast any semblance of a patronus charm and him admitting that he was awfully jealous of Harry's ability after Hermione had mentioned it vaguely, she decided to lighten Thorfinn up a little and offer a game of pool. While bowling had not been easy for either of them, pool was something else entirely. It was all about angles and it did not take long for them to develop a rhythm.

When Thorfinn decided to head over to the bar, Hermione was leading two to one in terms of game wins. She had just potted the final ball once again and Thorfinn admitted to himself that she was winning because he was awfully distracted. And who wouldn't be? Every turn she had, he couldn't help but stare at her. Hermione had noticed it by the latter half of their second game and he was almost sure that she was now purposefully contorting her body in mischievous ways. Of course, she hadn't commented on any of it. That fact did not make it any less sinful.

A discreet confundus charm on the woman at the bar led to Thorfinn cockily walking back over to Hermione with a hulking pint in one hand and a pink gin and tonic in the other. While he could pass easily as someone over the age of eighteen, he knew for a fact that Hermione would be ID'd within seconds if she approached the bar. It wasn't that she looked young, more so that she just didn't look old enough to get away with not showing a driver's license. Thorfinn did not dare order anything more than a pint for himself since he was planning to apparate the two of them later in the evening, but Hermione's request had not been what he was expecting. He was sure she'd say no when he offered an alcoholic drink, but instead she'd agreed and explained that she had had a few gins with her mum the previous summer and would not be opposed to one. _One_ had been emphasised though, and Thorfinn respected her wishes.

They played pool, flirted just a little, and chatted idly for the remainder of the afternoon. Hermione couldn't fathom why she had been stressed prior to the date; now, she felt nothing but relaxed. Being in the muggle world meant that a lot of her usual stresses were not available, and being in the company of Thorfinn made her feel light and normal. Normal as in not the best friend of the boy-who-lived (and was currently participating in a dangerous tournament). Normal as in not a witch that was looked down upon because of her parents. Normal was nice for a little while.

The pub began to get busy in the early evening, which was their cue to leave. Not having much else planned, Thorfinn encouraged a small walk and it ended up being rather enjoyable. But then, Hermione was biased, because _anywhere_ would be pleasant while kissing Thorfinn. She wasn't sure who had moved first, but soon they were on a park bench and she was seated sideways across his thighs. Thorfinn had never engaged in a public display back at Durmstrang and he never thought he'd be the type to do such a thing regardless of where he was. But with Hermione he couldn't seem to help himself. His left arm was wrapped tightly around her lower back to keep her close and steady, while his right hand roamed wherever was safe. He avoided particularly sensitive areas because he didn't wish to push her, though he was able to sneak a couple of fingers underneath her top and caress the smooth skin above her hip. Every time he brushed up against her skin, Hermione's breath would hitch audibly and she'd kiss him slightly harder; Thorfinn assumed it was her way of confirming he had permission.

"Thor…" Hermione whispered as the skies in front of them started darken. His lips were attached firmly to her neck and it took her a moment to summon enough willpower to do anything. When she did, she used the firm grip on his blonde hair to pull him away from the sensitive skin. It would be a miracle if there were no marks. Thorfinn looked at her then. Really looked. His shocking eyes were lively and unfocused; they were darting between the darkness of her own gaze and the undoubtedly plump lips that he had nipped at relentlessly. "Thorfinn?" she tried again, running her nails soothingly through the short hair on the back of his head. Thorfinn seemed to snap out of the trance he'd been under this time, dropping his forehead to her shoulder and snaking both bulky arms around her firmly.

"What?" he rasped out. Hermione could almost feel the strain in his voice and she also had a very good idea as to why he was struggling so much. Rather, she could _feel_ it. One part of her wanted to jump back with a profound blush, but another part of her was flattered and feeling incredibly confident because of what she had been able to bring him to.

"It's getting dark," she stated, and Thorfinn looked up and appeared to be surprised by the observation.

"It is," he muttered looking back to Hermione. "We should probably head back after I find a freezing river to jump into." Hermione laughed at the comment and one of her hands fell to his chest. "I'm sorry, though. I've got decent self-control but even then there's a limit…"

"It's natural," she said in an incredibly soothing tone, looking straight at him with an expression of complete understanding.

"Give me something horrendous to think about?"

Hermione thought for a moment.

"Professor Dumbledore in lingerie," stated Hermione. The utter alarm on Thorfinn's face told the whole story.

"Seriously? What the hell? Why? That's… well, it's worked, I suppose. I'm feeling the opposite of turned on now. I can't believe how quickly that worked… are you hungry? I'm hungry."

"Hungry?" laughed Hermione. "That's an interesting change of topic but yes, I suppose I am a bit."

"Do you want to get a takeaway?" asked Thorfinn, carefully lifting her up off of his lap before he stood also. Hermione made it her mission to _not_ let her eyes fall to his jeans.

"Takeaway?"

"Well I've not had one in years!" he exclaimed. "Pizza or a Chinese?"

"You want to take an entire Chinese takeaway back to Hogwarts?" Hermione questioned incredulously. He certainly possessed a huge sum of audacity, she'd give him that.

"Salt and pepper chicken is calling my name," grinned an excited Thorfinn. Hermione rolled her eyes playfully at his behaviour. For someone who absolutely loathed the muggle world and had seemed rather uncomfortable earlier in the day, he was certainly enjoying himself now.

"OK, fine, as long as you get me some prawn toast," she said.

"I'll get you some prawn toast if you agree to be my girlfriend." Thorfinn stated firmly. Hermione froze for a brief moment, taken aback by the way in which he had asked. In hindsight, she probably should not have been surprised. This was Thorfinn, after all, and the terms tactless and blunt were both candidates for his middle name.

"Of course I'll be your girlfriend…"

"Now I know for the future that prawn toast is the key to your heart," chuckled Thorfinn, happily enveloping her in his arms while she gave him a stunning smile. Hermione carefully pulled his neck down and kissed him softly. It was a change of pace compared to what they had been doing earlier, but Thorfinn enjoyed it all the same. Asking her to be his girlfriend had sort of just happened in the moment and he didn't regret it one bit. He had gotten what he wanted, after all. And what Thorfinn wanted was Hermione. Nothing else came close to anything to do with Hermione. She was everything and now she was officially his girlfriend, too.

After multiple apparitions, Thorfinn and Hermione waltzed back into Hogwarts with their Chinese takeaway. Professor McGonagall – who had been re-entering her office after overseeing a large detention that had been caused by a brawl earlier that day – looked very much displeased when she saw Hermione munching on a triangular slice of prawn toast while Thorfinn posted large pieces of chicken into his mouth.

"Salt and pepper chicken, professor?" Thorfinn asked amusedly, waving the clear plastic box in the direction of the member of the Hogwarts faculty. Professor McGonagall simply sighed.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Unfortunately, the season of education is upon us once more:/ It's funny, really. In an ideal world, I would simply be an author with the ability to travel a corona-less world and meet the hundreds of people who connect with my work. Obviously, we can't all have what we want, which is why I am continuing my work towards a degree in business in hopes of one day becoming a corporate drone. Because of this commitment I cannot promise many updates in the coming months; while I would love for writing to be my only priority, I have to be realistic and so I apologise in advance to anyone that expected me to reach the Order of the Phoenix by the end of the year.

Chapter 17

The date had created such a sensationally high feeling; not even Karkaroff's increasingly constant moodiness could rain on Thorfinn's parade. It had gone so well, in fact, that Hermione had agreed to abandon her revision timetable for the following Friday. The second date outside of the castle had included a casual café lunch and a viewing of a matinee performance of To Kill a Mockingbird. Unfortunately, as they had been returning to Hogwarts, Hermione discovered that Thorfinn was now in command of a house elf. The lightness of the date had diminished almost immediately.

"You have a slave, Thorfinn!" exclaimed a livid Hermione, who had been going off in the middle of the drawing room for at least five minutes. From the offset, her brown eyes seemed to glow slightly as a result of her virtuous magic and Thorfinn found it tremendously enrapturing. Once her rant had entered sixth gear, he settled himself on one of the sofas with a long sigh, stretching one arm across the back of it while crossing his left leg over his right. His nonchalance appeared to irritate his better half even more. Rocky – the adorably innocent bystander – was frozen by the door in his clean pillowcase; his big eyes were darting between the two almost comically.

"Look, even if Rocky was treated as a slave by my parents, I do not treat him as _my_ slave," argued a mystifyingly calm Thorfinn.

"Do you pay him?"

"No."

"Then that is slavery! Unpaid labour, at the very least," Hermione continued to argue. "Honestly, I thought you knew better."

"I do know better," Thorfinn said slowly, "if anything, Rocky's more of a mix of a friend and a kid at this point. He hadn't been doing very well by himself so I figured I'd try and help him get back into shape." The point he had made managed to placate Hermione momentarily, but the look she gave him told him that the debate was far from over. Even though it clearly had the ability to be a tiring subject, Thorfinn found himself less bothered than he usually would be. The reason was obvious, of course. Fiery Hermione was downright delightful to watch. It would be preferable if her anger was _not_ directed at him specifically, but beggars could not be choosers.

"And have you asked _Rocky_ how he feels about everything?" she nagged, crossing her arms in protest.

"Hermione, when I got here he was bloody distraught," Thorfinn responded with a rather sassy roll of his eyes. Hermione silently noted that the action reminded her of Ginny somewhat; maybe even Harry to an extent. Perhaps she could bring Thorfinn around Harry more often? She had a gut feeling that the two would actually get along once the ice was broken and Thorfinn bothered to put in effort and have patience. Regardless, this train of thought was completely off topic.

"You do realise that you're quite possibly taking advantage of Rocky while he is in a fragile state, don't you?"

"Rocky is not fragile, miss," said the house elf in question, taking a few steps forward and bowing his head forward slightly in respect. "Rocky is strong, miss, just like young Master Rowle."

"Master?" Hermione echoed, turning to look at Thorfinn with a single brow raised. "Really, Thorfinn?"

"He's comfortable with the term," shrugged Thorfinn. "Although I will admit that it gets confusing when he starts mentioning my dear departed father, too."

"Master Rowle, sir," started Rocky, "Rocky can address you as Lord Rowle, sir, if you wish."

"Go on, then," Thorfinn encouraged, "and while we're on the topic, I very much doubt that Hermione would appreciate you calling her mistress." Hermione shot him an incredibly nasty look at the thought. Truly, she could not think of anything worse. "You know, Rocky, I think she'd much prefer Lady Rowle-"

"_Thorfinn!_" she hissed harshly, the sudden colour in her cheeks making an arrogant smirk spread across his lips. "We're not _married!_" Despite the comment, Rocky looked absolutely overjoyed by the revelation. The house elf almost looked to be vibrating in happiness and his big dark eyes were becoming slightly glossy.

"Rocky is very happy for Lord Rowle," beamed the elf. Hermione could not find it within her be angry with the cheerfulness on display. Other than Dobby, it was not massively common for elves to broadcast this much positive emotion in front of witches and wizards. "Lady Rowle?" Rocky spoke up and Hermione couldn't help but flinch at the address. "Rocky wishes to stay with Lord Rowle and his family, miss. Rocky is feeling better now that Lord Rowle has returned – and Rocky is very glad to serve another Lady Rowle that is pretty and smart, because mistress is missed."

"You don't need to call me Lady Rowle, Rocky, it is wholly unnecessary and while Thorfinn and I are together I am _not_ a Rowle-"

"Yet," muttered Thorfinn, coughing behind a closed fist to haphazardly cover the statement. Hermione looked at him in both alarm and disbelief.

"Thor, we've officially been together for less than a week!"

"Thor?" he smirked. "Since you've already given _me_ a nickname, _you_ may as well be Rocky's Lady Rowle." Hermione's face flamed and she turned away bashfully. Shortening his name had not been intentional, but she supposed Thorfinn was an unusual mouthful to repeat on a consistent basis. It was either Thor or Finn, and he most certainly did not strike her as a Finn. He was definitely more of a Thor; he had a brittle temper and strength like the Thor of Norse mythology too, so it fit. Though, she did wonder why so many pureblood wizards had such dramatic names. Introducing him to her muggle family one day would be a palaver, she knew.

"Miss?" Rocky questioned, standing very close to Hermione's leg. "Rocky does not want you to be angry with Lord Rowle. Lord Rowle means well, miss."

"I'm sure he does," she responded with an eye roll of her own.

"Rocky would like to be your elf too, miss."

"Oh, no, that _really_ isn't necessary," said a panicked Hermione. She looked to Thorfinn for help, but he did nothing more than smirk cockily. Well… she would get him back for this. That was a promise Hermione made to herself. Light-hearted revenge would be a delight.

"Why would Lady Rowle not wish for Rocky to be her elf?" asked Rocky. The house elf then proceeded to push out his bottom lip and Hermione looked at the brewing breakdown apprehensively. "Is there something wrong with Rocky, miss? Does miss already have a better elf?"

"No," Hermione said softly, lowering herself to her knees rather gracefully. "That is not the case at all, Rocky; I happen to think you are extremely wonderful." Rocky's gaze fell to his own small feet at the compliment and it appeared that the tears had been prevented for now. Thorfinn seemed to summon a small amount of pity in that moment; watching Hermione's communicative struggles was awfully amusing, but he did not wish to see any tears. They still made him very much uncomfortable.

"Hermione," started Thorfinn, "I know that you are not technically Lady Rowle, but I think you should accept Rocky anyway. I understand your reservations when it comes to house elves – I'd also appreciate it if you would stop glaring at me like you are now, because it is insanely attractive and I'm losing my train of thought – but as I was saying, if it were simply up to me I would have you bonded."

"_Thorfinn_-"

"Let me explain," he cut in smoothly. While he hated to talk over Hermione because he adored her voice and the intelligence she almost always spewed, he felt it was necessary in this moment. "I do not want you to bond with a slave, I want you to bond with a companion. House elf magic is very convenient as you know. If either one of us were ever in danger, nine out of ten times Rocky would be able to take the one in peril to the safety of the other as a result of a simple call. Then, of course, if anything ever happened to me – god forbid – I would know that you would be looked after by Rocky at the very least. And before you say what I know you are going to say, when I say looked after I mean in every way possible. If you accept Rocky, you will always have a friend. Unconditional support."

"Nothing would happen to you," Hermione scoffed reluctantly. While she did her best to present an indifferent visage, Thorfinn could tell that some of his words had upset her slightly. He forced himself not to feel guilty about it; the truth almost _always_ hurt, after all. "Don't say things like that, Thor," she continued, "they're not very nice."

"Rocky agrees with Lady Rowle, sir," muttered Rocky. "Bad Lord Rowle, sir," was the scolding that the wizard received. Thorfinn could not believe that they were already ganging up on him.

"Regardless," said Thorfinn, "I've made my point. It's completely up to you, Hermione. I know we haven't known each other all that long, but you really are my favourite person. I'll always want you in my life no matter the capacity, which is why I encourage you to accept Rocky. And I'm very aware that I sound like a little bitch right now, but I don't care. You are the _only_ witch that I have ever envisioned myself committing to and there'll be a tiny weight taken off my shoulders if I know you've got Rocky in your corner."

Hermione glared at him icily but her posture was a clear image of resignation. He had just all but poured is heart out to her, and there was no way she could say no after that.

"Also," he began to add, "I'm sure that Rocky would be willing to answer every question you have about house elves. Be good to have an ally, wouldn't it?"

"Well, yes," she mumbled, standing firmly with her hands on her hips. "_If_ I decide to do this, I expect compromise. For example, I'd like to work out how to pay Rocky without insulting him so that he can buy _himself_ some clothes."

"Because technically if he bought clothes for himself it would not be us freeing him," said Thorfinn thoughtfully. "That's decent logic, Hermione; I promise we'll look into it. So what's it going to be?"

There was a brief pause.

"I'm such a hypocrite." Hermione stated with a sigh.

Thorfinn just grinned.

* * *

As the Easter holidays came to a close, Thorfinn could not avoid the disheartened feeling. Professor McGonagall had explicitly stated that he would no longer have access to her floo once the term started back up, and after everything she had already done he knew better than to push. After the dates during the first week, Hermione had spent the second week of the holidays revising militantly. It gave him time to himself – something that he was very much used to – and while he missed conversing with her and kissing her without worry, he could admit to himself that he also managed to get a lot of work done and training in while Hermione was otherwise occupied. They still managed to meet for a couple of meals and quick pulls in the library but it was not the same. Hence the disheartened feeling.

There was no time to wallow, however. Because Malin Stenberg was currently hovering outside his room contemplating whether or not to knock and how many times to do so. Thorfinn was by no means a master when it came to sensing magical energy; Hermione's was a prominent exception in terms of fellow teenagers, as most were not strong enough for him to feel. Apparently, the nervousness and obvious panic that Malin was currently exuding was enough to be a beacon. It was strange, distracting, and very much annoying. Thorfinn sighed angrily, grumbling under his breath as he tossed his occlumency book onto the floor beside his bed.

Malin jumped in shock when he swung the door open with insane force, looking at him with an expression of extreme surprise. Her full lips were open in a complete O shape and her neatly fashioned eyebrows may as well have been a part of her hairline.

"What?" Thorfinn snapped simply, fixing her with a firm frown. It was not one of his notorious 'promise of a slow death' glares, but it was definitely enough to unsettle her even further.

"I need your help vith somethink, big man," muttered Malin as she nervously picked at the skin surrounding her thumb nail. The action was odd. She was not the type to do such a thing; too perfect.

"Can't you ask one of the others? I'm sure the lads would fight each other for the right to help you out."

"I _can't_," she emphasised. The very open mix of emotions on her face told Thorfinn all he needed to know. He was the only person on the ship that she felt she could go to. Because she knew that she did not have to explain.

"Fine," grumbled Thorfinn. "Tell me."

"Can I come in?" Malin asked, looking around the ship nervously. The topic of conversation was clearly not made for any ears other than his, and he did admit to himself that he was now slightly curious.

"No."

"Vell, it vas vorth a try," she joked uneasily, aware that no other student had ever been inside of his Durmstrang dormitory. "Do you know vhere ve can go?"

"We can go and sit down by the lake – should be fine if we both put up a couple of spells," suggested Thorfinn. Malin nodded in agreement and he turned to close the door to his room before they departed the ship. While there were a couple of groups of students down by the lake because of the relatively nice weather, the two soon found a spot. Malin had taken to absentmindedly skimming stones across the waters; Thorfinn had sat down on a nearby boulder and was impatiently waiting for her to say whatever she needed to say.

"How are fings vith your lady?" questioned Malin, turning to face Thorfinn as a stone skimmed magnificently along the shimmering surface.

"Fine," he said bluntly. "She's my girlfriend now."

"Dat's good…" she trailed off. Thorfinn felt his jaw twitch in irritation; small talk was often utterly irrelevant and entirely unnecessary. "How did you ask her out?"

"I walked up to her and asked her."

"Is dat all?" Malin said in surprise. "Vell, girls alvways have said yes to you, big man… do you fink dat vould vork for me, too? I have never asked anyone – boys alvays come to me and let me tell dem no, and ve did not ask each odder, really, it just happened."

"Is this what's causing you all that stress?" he laughed. Malin glared at him furiously but did not deny it. "Don't tell me it's that veela that's got all the lads drooling-"

"Shut up, Rowle!"

"Oh wow, is it actually?"

"No!" she snapped. "It is an English girl."

"They are very nice, aren't they?" he said smugly.

"I do not know how I have not seen her before," started Malin. "Ve have been here for months… but I had no words, Rowle – it vas so embarrassing!" Thorfinn looked incredibly amused by her current struggles but was wise enough to refrain from commenting as she began to pace. "I vas in de Hogwarts library to find a book to help me vith my charms essay. I vas told vhere to go to find vhat I needed, but vhen I got dere, dere was dis girl quickly going through de pages of a book. De girl vas so pretty, Rowle. I froze."

"_You_ froze?" he repeated, his arms folded across his wide chest. "_You_ got shaken up by someone's looks? When _you_ look like that?"

"Stop it," muttered Malin. Heat had risen from her neck and up into her pale cheeks. It did not appear to be the flattery that had caused her the embarrassment; she had put up with desperate boys for years at this point and had heard more than a few compliments. Rather, it was the idea of admitting that her often unwavering confidence had been impacted. Malin had always presented herself as a woman that was both poised and in control. Becoming a nervous mess around an English girl most certainly did not fit her carefully constructed image.

"So what happened?" questioned Thorfinn.

"I just… stared," she grumbled, mortified. "For like two minutes!"

"I stare at Hermione all the time." Thorfinn admitted shamelessly, shrugging his shoulders in a show of nonchalance. "Honestly, I don't see the problem. You do know how many lads have stared at you over the years, right? Only fair you get a turn. And I know some of the creepier looking dudes have probably made you feel a bit uncomfortable, but I doubt that the girl was upset at all _if_ she saw you giving her a look over."

"Oh, she did see," sighed Malin, "she must have felt eyes on her, because she looked up and den…"

"Then?"

"She is so pretty, Rowle. I am in love."

"Woah, OK," he said quickly, "I think that's a bit much. You can't possibly feel that – you don't even know her!"

"Love at first sight." Malin stated with a wistful grin.

"Do you even know her name?" deadpanned Thorfinn.

"Vell… no. But she vears red like your lady, so I fought maybe you could ask her if she could help? Dey might know each odder. I do not know if de girl vould give me a chance but your lady might know if she vould. Please? You are an ass but I know dere is good in you. Help me out? She is so pretty dat I vant to serenade her vith ABBA."

Thorfinn shook his head quickly, almost giving himself whiplash.

"No ABBA," he said quickly. "Definitely no ABBA."

"Vhy not?" pouted Malin.

"For a start, you don't know her status – I doubt there is more than half of the Hogwarts population that has even heard of ABBA. Then, there's also the fact that even if you _can_ sing, the thought is incredibly cringe-worthy. Oh, and the girl might hate ABBA with every fibre of her being! You've got to think about these things."

"Take all of de fun out of it, den," Malin responded, rolling her eyes dramatically. "How else can I ask her to take a chance on me?"

"That was awful," huffed Thorfinn, doing his best to look offended by the cheeky reference. While most of his expression remained in a disapproving frown, the tiniest smirk of amusement managed to twitch at the left corner of his lips. "But honestly, I don't know how to help. You know how things were with me and the girls back at Durmstrang, since you were one of them and all. And Hermione, well, we sort of just stumbled upon each other and clicked without much effort. But… since I'm 'an ass but dere is good' in me, I'm willing to involve Hermione. You've got to be willing to tell her _everything_ once we all sit down together, though; I don't need her getting pissy with me because I'm helping out someone I fucked."

"Vhat did you just say?" she ground out icily, a daunting glare settling on her often neutral face. Thorfinn felt his heart freeze for a brief second. Then, it suddenly occurred to him that it was his wording that had caused her reaction. Whoops. "You know vhat, Rowle? Ve can go and see your girlfriend _tonight_ and I vill tell her _all_ about de time ve _fucked!_"

"Malin…" he trailed off, bringing one hand up in order to pinch the bridge of his nose. She stormed off back to the ship before he could say another word, but Thorfinn heard her mutter the word disrespectful under her breath, sandwiched between slews of what was likely vicious Norwegian. He wasn't sure why what he had said had caused such an overzealous reaction, though he did store it away in his mind so that he would not make the mistake again. Having a furious Malin Stenberg out for his blood was not ideal nor was it productive.

Thorfinn sighed to himself, rising from the large rock and crouching to pick up an oval pebble. With a firm flick of the wrist, he sent the stone skimming rapidly across the lake. As he watched it – thinking about his behaviour at Durmstrang and his social faux pas – he could not help but mutter under his breath:

"It's only natural, but why did it have to be me?"

Then, realising he had just quoted ABBA, his face dropped.

After that painful occurrence, Thorfinn chose to train up until dinner. It kept him off the ship and far away from Malin's spiteful wrath while also providing him the right to a huge meal. All in all, it was a win-win situation. Malin met up with him on the ship after he had stuffed himself so full with protein that simply walking was a task. She looked over him in annoyance and rolled her eyes a few times but did not comment. Instead, they wandered up to the castle in silence. The only noise that could be heard was the clicking of Malin's uniform shoes against the cobbles.

"Come on," muttered Thorfinn, "she's probably still in the hall." Malin shrugged and hummed noncommittally at his statement and he began to feel a small tingling of irritation. Was she really still hung up on the comment from earlier? "What? You're not speaking to me now?" he snapped.

"Say sorry and I vill," she shot back.

"Fine," huffed Thorfinn, coming to a stop just a minute away from the hall. "Miss Stenberg," he began pompously, clasping his hands behind his back. "I, Thorfinn Rowle, Lord of the Ancient and Reputable House of Rowle, hereby apologise on behalf of the Ancient and Reputable House of Rowle for any and all misgivings-"

"You are an ass!" she hissed, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. "You know for a fact dat I cannot turn down dat apology. If my moder heard dat I said no to an official apology, she vould disown me – she may have married a muggleborn but she still likes some traditions."

"I figured it was the quickest way to get you to stop being off with me," chuckled Thorfinn. "And it worked, didn't it? You've accepted the apology and now you can stop being mad and annoying me."

"I have not accepted anyfing!"

"But you have to so…"

"Lord Rowle!" called out a distinctly pretentious voice from down the corridor, breaking up the petulant back and forth. Thorfinn's teeth snapped together in an almost animalistic manner at the interruption, and Malin quickly ceased her earlier arguing immediately. She was a well-educated young lady when it came to the subject of wizarding society. Presenting herself as both proper and refined, she moved herself to stand very closely to Thorfinn with her posture high and her hands clasped politely.

"Can I help you?" Thorfinn questioned incredibly coldly. The step of boy who had been swaggering up to him stuttered momentarily at the tone. Regardless, Draco Malfoy would not be intimidated; he would not fail a task that had come directly from his father.

"I apologise for the interruption, Lord Rowle," said Draco, his nose high as he looked over Malin with a keen glint in his eyes. Thorfinn heard the tiniest huff of disapproval escape Malin's nose and had to hold in a mean smirk. Little boys like this Malfoy always seemed to have a thing for Malin; even a couple of Durmstrang purebloods had made it known that they were willing to 'taint' their line if it meant being with such a sophisticated beauty. Of course, Malin wanted absolutely nothing to do with men altogether. No one knew that, though, and Thorfinn doubted that blokes would let up on their pursuits even if her preference was common knowledge.

"Malfoy…" Thorfinn growled out very slowly. "If your gaze does not move from the lady's chest within the next two seconds, I will throw you head first off of the balcony of your Astronomy Tower." Draco's eyes snapped up to meet his almost immediately, looking up at him with both hesitance and pitiful aggression. "Malin," Thorfinn began, his tone smooth and velvety, "perhaps you should go ahead – I will catch up to you in a few minutes." The witch in question did not try to argue, and she moved away very promptly in order to escape the tense atmosphere surrounding the small group.

There was a drawn out pregnant pause before Draco cleared his dry throat.

"I apologise," said Draco. "I did not realise she was yours."

"She isn't – she belongs to no one," corrected Thorfinn. "Did you actually _need_ me for something, Malfoy? I'm sure you've already noticed that I am not one for pleasantries, seeing as you have left me alone for the majority of my time here… although, that is much to your chagrin, I'm sure."

"I have a letter for you. It has come directly from my father, Lucius Malfoy, and he requested that I hand it over personally as a show of good faith," explained Draco. The Slytherin reached inside of his expensive robes and produced a pristine cream coloured envelope. Thorfinn took the item carefully and with a suspicious glare; Karkaroff had told him all about Lucius Malfoy, and Hermione had mentioned the family a fair few times as well. "My father is keen to make your acquaintance, Rowle. I understand your parents were very good friends of the Lestrange family; of course, Bellatrix Lestrange is my mother's sister, and I am under the impression that my parents were fairly familiar with your family also."

"I see." Thorfinn stated stonily. The letter sat unopened in his left hand, as he had no intention to read it in front of Draco. His thumb brushed over the elegant Malfoy seal a couple of times while he waited to see if the boy would continue with his painfully asinine speech.

"Father also requested I inform you that you are welcome at Malfoy Manor if you wish to visit. You see, a lot of wizarding families know that what has been written about you and Potter's filthy little _mudblood_ is an intentional slander of your character. To us – the right sort, as you know – what you did at the Yule Ball was nothing more than an ingenious power play."

As Draco continued to prattle on, one of the nearby windows cracked from top to bottom in a harsh vertical line. Thorfinn was focusing all of his energy on maintaining a neutral expression. The way in which this little brat had spoken about Hermione was unforgivable and he had not struggled to keep his temper in check as much as this for a very long time.

"You know, Rowle, when you first walked in with a mudblood on your arm we all thought you to be a traitor! But then we understood. You come from Durmstrang – you come from the Reputable House of Rowle – there was no way you would throw away your prestige in our society for the sake of some common filth. Rather, you showed your superiority without a single spell. When I told father he said that you showed political promise. I happen to think that it was very clever of you to you sweep Potter's know-it-all mudblood right out from under him, then drape Rowle jewels all over her to show just how much control you have!"

"And that is why I have not been receiving accusations?"

"Yes. I have requested that my fellow Slytherins keep their distance unless approached. The wrong sorts in our world have no respect for your family, but we most certainly do."

"I appreciate you making the request, Malfoy. My tolerance for discussion is often spectacularly low," said Thorfinn. While he absolutely loathed the way in which Draco talked about Hermione and wanted to wring his skinny neck for it, he did actually appreciate Draco's actions. It was also a relief that pureblood families like the Malfoys did not put much stock in the writings of Rita Skeeter. Knowing that he had less enemies than he had anticipated took some of the paranoia from the back of Thorfinn's mind. He would let them believe what they wished. Of course, that also meant that he would have to be even more careful when it came to being with Hermione from now on; the two of them being constantly attacked for their Romeo and Juliet moment was not what either of them needed in their lives at the current time.

"I hope you consider what my father has to say," said Draco. "It is a relief to many that the Rowle line remains alive – my parents and I included."

"I will read the letter," replied Thorfinn. "Now, if you don't mind…"

"Of course," Draco said quickly, stepping to his left and standing side on to Thorfinn so that he could pass without unnecessary diversion. Thorfinn almost snorted at the excruciatingly obvious butt kissing from the young Malfoy. After all Hermione had said about Draco, it was rather strange to engage in such a civil interaction with him. As he walked away from the young heir, Thorfinn watched vigilantly over his shoulder; Hermione had recalled the story of Professor Moody turning Malfoy to a ferret because of an intention of a curse to the back very fondly, and he wanted to make sure that he would not take an unexpected hit. Draco just watched him leave, however, even inclining his head in a respectful manner as Thorfinn rounded the corner.

Wow. Who knew Thorfinn had such power?


End file.
